


No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

by AlannaLioness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Multi, OT3, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, first words tattoed on body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannaLioness/pseuds/AlannaLioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like every other person on the planet, Steve Rogers was born with a tattoo, (though lovers of semantics and exact language would argue that that tattoo really isn’t the right word, because tattoos don’t grow and adjust like soulmate marks do). And like a fair number of people (approximately 35%) Steve was born with two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>        AKA Captain America has the Bucky's and Sam's first words to him marked on his body and his life is complicated because of it. He's not always the best at dealing, but he won't let either of them go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Began In Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> This thing kinda took off from me. There is more to come. 
> 
> Shout out to my friends enjolgay and phonecallfromgod for putting up with my nagging and for reading this before anyone else. Love you.
> 
> Title from Hozier's Work Song. check it out. so beautiful.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to my beta thefalconden from tumblr.

          Like every other person on the planet, Steve Rogers was born with a tattoo, (though lovers of semantics and exact language would argue that that tattoo really isn’t the right word, because tattoos don’t grow and adjust like soulmate marks do). And like a fair number of people (approximately 35%) Steve was born with two.

          When Steve was old enough to learn what the marks meant, he told his mom he didn’t understand how it could work with two. Sarah Rogers sat on the couch and scooped her small son into her lap.

          “Lots of people have two,” she told him. “Your Auntie Lorraine has Uncle Jack’s words over her heart, and mine behind her left ear, your dad has mine on his wrist and John’s on his shoulder, and you’ve heard your dad talk about the three guys at work who’ve been best friends since they were kids. They’ve all got each other’s words. You see what I’m sayin, hun? There can be lots of reasons to have two.”

           “Ya, Ma. I get it.”

           (It was a long time later, when he overheard the gossip of a couple of chorus girls, that Steve found out that two marks did not always mean a best friend was thrown into the mix.)

            It was only a few years later that Steve met his first soulmate.

            Another boy had reached a hand out to help Steve up after a fight.

            “You okay?” the boy asked.

            “Yeah. ‘Course. I had ‘em on the ropes,” Steve answered through a bloody nose.

            The other boy’s eyes widened as his hand went automatically to his right side, his ribs. As Steve stared, he felt a tingling over his heart. Right where those two words had been scrawled since birth. The boys grinned at each other, confident in the fact that they had just met their best friend for life. Steve thought about his father, with John’s words on his shoulder.

            It was a long time before Steve admitted to himself that Bucky’s mark meant a lot more than friendship to him. But he was always too afraid to say it aloud.  He’d convinced himself that he had no claim over Bucky, because Bucky had words over his heart, and surely that meant more? And besides, why ruin their friendship by confessing to feelings that only went one way? Steve told himself that he could be happy with friendship, that it could be him and Bucky against everything. Eventually, someone would claim the words between Steve’s shoulder blades, and everything would be better.

           So life went on. And Steve and Bucky stood side by side and faced all that was thrown at them.

           But then the war broke out and the world descended into smoke and fire and Bucky was headed to a fight where Steve couldn’t follow.

           Until he found a way that he could.

           And Steve met Peggy. Who was beautiful and strong and smart and Steve just wanted to curl his too large body around her and tell her all the ways that she had saved him.

        But wish as he might, her words were not his.

        But he loved her.

        He loved her and trusted her and let her fly him over enemy lines in order to save his best friend.

        And then he fought. Really fought, not just with a killer smile and enough charm to sell a million bonds. He fought with everything he’d been born with and everything Erskine had gifted to him. The war raged through Europe, and the Howling Commandos raged right along with it. And every once in a while, they’d sit around the fire on whatever blasted piece of earth they’d found shelter, dirty and tired, and they’d talk about “After”. After the war. After everything was over. After they made it home.

        And Steve hoped.

        He told himself that he could have his best friend and his best girl. After all, people loved and lived with non-soulmates all the time.

   

         But then Bucky was falling. And Steve wanted to scratch the marks from his body until the skin was red and raw. But this was one instance where the serum was more a hindrance than a help.

 

         But Steve was afforded no time to mourn. Hydra was still forging on. The mission remained. The mission Bucky had followed him into and given everything for. It wasn’t a mission he was willing to back down from, especially not now. And then he was crashing and he had a just a moment to think that while this was not the ‘After’ he would have chosen, at least he’d chosen it. Like Bucky, he’d chosen to save people. And then it all went cold and dark and he didn’t think about anything.

 

          But then he woke up.

 

          And of course the world had kept on turning.  And everything was different. And at first, Steve Rogers didn’t know if it was worth the bother. Bucky was gone. The Commandos were gone. And Peggy…. Peggy had grown old and lived a whole life without him. There really wasn’t a place for him anymore.

          But Fury was determined to drag him into the world, kicking and screaming if he had to.

          But then Loki happened. And New York happened. And Fury didn’t have to drag so hard anymore.

          After, after the sky closed up and New Yorkers started putting their lives back together, Steve Rogers took a break. He gave himself two weeks to recover and pull himself up by his metaphorical bootstraps.

          Then he showed up at Fury’s office and asked to be put to work. Fury sent him to D.C. and Steve threw himself into missions and tried not to think about Bucky or soulmates or the fact that he still hadn’t heard the words tattooed between his shoulders.

 

 


	2. He Found Him In DC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus began the worst week of Steve’s existence.
> 
> AKA Steve meets his second soulmate, and things go to hell shortly thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, love to my enjolgay and phonecallfrom god and thanks to falconden from tumblr for beta-ing.

       Steve met his second soulmate completely by accident. He was out running one morning when he saw a lone jogger ahead of him. The way he carried himself screamed ‘ex-military’.

       “On your left,” he said. Hoping the warning would ensure the other man wouldn’t startle as Steve passed.

       On Steve’s next lap, the jogger was still there.

       “On your left.”

       And again he was there. And Steve couldn’t help being a little shit, he never could.

       “On your left.”

       “Uh-huh. On my left. I got it.”

       Steve grinned as he kept running. Then the words actually sank in. And Steve knew those words. Had read them to himself a million times. Had imagined the person whose lips they would spill out of.

       Steve’s back was still tingling over the next two laps.

       When Steve found the man lounging under the tree, he couldn’t help but reach out a hand. And then proceed to grin and flirt shamelessly.

       Which is of course when Natasha had to show up with a mission and drag Steve away from Sam’s beautiful smile. As they drove off, Steve looked in the mirror and saw the questioning look in Sam’s eyes. But then he was gone as Natasha took a sharp turn.

       Steve shook his head and made himself focus on the mission.

       And thus began the worst week of Steve’s existence. And the only times he got to see Sam, he was either questioning all of his life choices or in mortal peril. Neither of which really afforded the opportunity to throw “hey we’re soulmates” into the conversation.

       And then, somehow, things managed to get even more complicated. Because how do you tell the guy you just met that you’re soulmates, and maybe you should like go on a date sometime, at the same time that your previously assumed dead soulmate is trying to kill you both? Now, Steve Rogers had never been one to back down from a fight. Bucky was always the first to say that it was a this flaw of character that had gotten him into the most trouble. But this one time, Steve just didn’t know how to explain. So he didn’t. He told himself he had too much on his plate and he could wait until after saving the world to talk it out with Sam.

       So Steve Rogers saved the world. But he still couldn’t save Bucky.

 

       Again, all he could do was fall.

 

       But then he woke up. Thankfully 70 years hadn’t passed this time, and he wasn’t alone either. Sam was on his right, where he had been through this entire mess. Steve managed to croak “on your left”, before once again slipping into unconsciousness. He woke again a few hours later. Groaning, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He breathed deeply as his whole body shrieked in protest. A glass of water was pressed to his lips and he gulped it down greedily. When he was done, Sam stepped back from the bed.

       “I’m going to get the doctor. You’ll be okay for a few minutes?” Steve nodded. When Sam was gone, Steve inspected his surroundings. He was happy to note that his shield was propped against the end of his bed. He wondered who had dived into the Potomac to get it. Though the logical part of his brain told him that it had probably been an accident, found by someone looking for bodies.

       A cell phone sat on the bedside table. Probably Sam’s. Steve shuffled to the side of the bed and reached for it, but even being closer, the stretch still pulled at the still healing muscles. He took another deep breath before dialing. Natasha picked up on the first ring.

       “Fury wants to see you before he leaves the country.” She said by way of greeting.

       “Where and when?”

       “His grave. As soon as you get out.”

       “You going to be there?”

       “I’ve already seen him. What needs to be said has been said.”

       “And if I need to see you?”

       “You’re about to ask me to call in a lot of favours aren’t you?”

       “I need any information you can get me on Bucky. The Soviets had him first.”

       “This is not a good idea Steve”

       “I don’t care. Can you find anything?”

       “I’ll see what I can do.”

       When Sam came back with the doctor, Steve was already asleep again.

       When Steve woke up the next morning he was ready to go. He had never really liked hospitals, and he didn’t want to spend any more time in one than was strictly necessary. So against medical advice, Steve signed his discharge papers and walked out. That afternoon he found himself at a cemetery standing over yet another empty grave and talking to a dead man.  

       Guilt was something Steve was intimately familiar with,on bad days he felt as if the weight of it would crush him. Guilt over the people he couldn’t save, guilt over having to watch good men die horribly, guilt over leaving before the war was over. Yet he felt no guilt watching Fury walk away alone. Sam on the other hand, Sam weighed on him. Sam, who was breakable and human and who Bucky had once already torn out of the sky. Sam made Steve worry.

       When Sam had agreed to accompany Steve on his search for Bucky, he’d sounded sure. But that didn’t stop Steve from double checking that he was sure. And triple checking. The fourth time he asked, they were throwing their duffle bags into Sam’s (new)car. Which is when Sam finally lost it. Slamming the trunk, he turned to face Steve.

       “Man, you have got to stop asking me that.”

       “Sorry,” Steve said. “It’s just… it’s going to be dangerous.”

       “I know. And I knew that when I dropped my file in front of you. I told you then I was good to go back in.”

       “But that was Captain America asking you to help save the world, this is different.”

       “You’re right. This is my soulmate asking me to help save his best friend.”

       There it was. Finally said out loud. And Steve still had no explanations or excuses, and frankly had no idea what to say to that. So he focused on something else.

       “I thought you said he was the kind you stopped.”

       “Yeah. But that was before he dragged your stupid ass out of the Potomac.”

       Steve paused for a moment. “So you’re really in this? Cause it’s not just Bucky we have to worry about. Whatever is left of Hydra is going to be on us too.”

       In response Sam pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal on your left written along his collarbone.

       “Because apparently you need me to repeat myself. I have been waiting a long ass time to hear those words, not as long as you but long enough. So I’m not just letting you walk away now. Because I don’t know how this ends or what we’ll become,  but I do know that you are important.” Sam paused for a beat before grinning, “besides, someone has to take care of your stupid ass. I’ve read the history books, you’ll do something idiotic left all by your lonesome.”

 

       And thus began the worst road trip in history.

       Natasha’s file was helpful. They used it to track down some of the places where Bucky had been held and trained (Sam liked to call it the Terrifying World Tour of Corrupt Government Facilities). It was always a toss up as to whether or not the facilities would be active, but it felt as if they were constantly dodging Hydra bullets and they were no closer to Bucky’s current location.

       But with each base they learned more about Bucky, more about the man Hydra tried to turn him into.  It was not a pleasant experience. But every time there was something that gave Steve hope. A handler’s notes complaining about the asset “resisting orders”, an audio file of a mission where Bucky kept saying the Commandos’ names over the comms instead of his handlers’.  These things became rarer as the bases got newer. Apparently they’d gotten better at mind wiping as time went on.

       But something else changed too.

       They started finding bodies.

       They were examining a scientist’s body at the third death filled base when a voice startled them, both men spun bringing their weapons up. Natasha Romanov stood before them raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

       “And you call yourselves soldiers,” she shook her head mournfully. “I weep for the future of this country, I really do.”

       Steve grinned as he lowered his weapon. “Natasha, what brings you to this sterile and bloody neck of the woods?.”

       “Well, as I was saying before you so rudely pointed your guns at me,” Steve rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Natasha took great joy in startling the two men. “Soviet slugs. No rifling. The last two places, and this one too I bet.”

       Sam and Steve exchanged a worried look.

       “This body isn’t even cold yet,” Sam said.

       Natasha narrowed her eyes. “I really wish you had told me that earlier.”

       Suddenly, gun shots could be heard from below them. The three swore and took off down the hall, following the moving sounds of a firefight.

       “Where’s the entrance to the lowest level?”  Natasha shouted as they ran.

       “This is supposed to be the lowest level!” Sam shouted back.

       At the end of the hallway a door splintered open as Bucky Barnes crashed through it. He looked down the hall at the three of them, looked behind him, kicked down the door in front of him, and ran through it. Natasha skidded to a halt, causing Sam and Steve to almost crash into her.

       “We need to find an alternate route,” she said as she turned around.

       “What? Why?” Steve demanded.

       “The Winter Soldier just completely ignored us because he was running from something else. Do you want to meet whatever made him run? Cause I sure don’t.”

       And with that the three of them took off. They raced down halls and whipped around corners and within a few minutes they found themselves topside and at Sam’s car.

       "You coming with us?” Sam asked Natasha.

       She shook her head, “Keep me posted.” And she was gone.

       (In the car later that day Sam asked Steve how Natasha had got the drop on them. Steve just shook his head. “I literally have no idea. The serum gave me improved hearing and I never know when she’s coming.”

       Sam raised an eyebrow, “that’s disconcerting.”

       “Yeah. I want to say that ceiling vents are involved somehow, but that sounds more like a Clint thing,” Steve responded.

       “Also, that doesn’t actually explain why you wouldn’t hear her.” Steve, lacking a comeback, just shoved him.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts. Hit me up here or at natthewombat.tumblr.com


	3. They Found Friends in the Strangest Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Terrifying World Tour Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to enjolgay and phonecallfromgod. I would not be able to cope without you. 
> 
> Thanks to thefalconden for beta-work.

 

     And the Terrifying World Tour continued. The next facility they hit was completely empty, and had been for a while. Steve wanted to kick a wall in frustration, the only thing that stopped him was the fact that someone else had had a similar idea. Steve ran his fingertips over the concrete wall, ghosting them over the perfect imprint of a metal fist.

     Bucky had hit the next facility mere hours before Sam and Steve arrived. As they were walking through it, they noticed something.

     “Is it just me, or are there less bodies than normal?” Sam asked.

     Steve nodded. “And they’re all security. Where are all the staff?”

     This question was answered when they came to a small room in the lowest level of the building. The door was locked from the outside, and when they opened it they found a bunch of scared scientists huddling in a corner.

     “Who’s in charge here?” Steve asked. The scientists shrunk back further, huddling close together. “I’m not going to hurt any of you, I just need to ask some questions.” Again they said nothing.Steve and Sam exchanged a look before Sam grabbed the nearest guy and hauled him to his feet.

     “Cap here doesn’t want to hurt you, and neither do I. I do however, really want to test out these new wings that Tony Stark made for me. And I think a great way to do that would be to fly you up and drop you. See how fast these babies can go by waiting a bit before I try and catch you.” The scientist paled. “So, you gonna answer the man’s questions, or you gonna help me test the wings?” The scientist swallowed a coupled times before he could speak.

     “What do you want to know?”

     Steve stepped up beside Sam. “The Winter Soldier. He was here. What did he want?” The scientist swallowed again.

     “He wanted information. Information about himself. But we don’t have much. The asset was only stored here for a short period a few years ago.”

     Steve thought for a few moments, back to the bases full of death.”There’s a Hydra facility near Chicago. Do you know what it was for?” The scientist’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

     “Disguised as an office building on the edge of an industrial park?” Steve nodded. The scientist paused before continuing. “The primary function of that facility is… well was… training and re-calibration.” The word choice did nothing to fool Sam and Steve, especially considering the man could not meet their eyes. Sam dropped him in disgust and dragged Steve out of there, locking the door behind them as they went. Steve was silent until they got back to Sam’s car.

     “We should call the authorities.” Sam looked at him, Steve looked fine, but his eyes told Sam a different story. Sam knew that Steve must be thinking about the same thing he was. The three facilities that Bucky had hit, each with rooms full of shiny metal instruments and floors long stained with blood. So Sam nodded and anonymously called it in, and then they were off, not wanting to be sucked into the circus that was about to start. They drove for a couple hours, wanting to get far enough away that the cops would have trouble tracking them down if the Hydra agents outed them.

     They stopped at a semi-divey motel, one of the ones where the attendant wouldn’t ask questions but that didn’t come at the cost of having to share your bed with cockroaches.

     As soon as they were inside Steve sank onto the edge of the nearest double bed, slouching his shoulders and putting his head in his hands. Sam quickly tossed their bags on the other bed and sat beside him.

     “Hey man,what is spinning around in that head of yours?” Steve shook his head. “Come on. Maybe I can help. It kinda is my job.” Steve lifted his head.

     “I’m just confused. I don’t really know what I’m feeling. I mean horror, obviously, at what they did to him. But also...relief. But that doesn’t make any sense.” Sam reached his arm around Steve’s broad back and gripped his shoulder.

     “Actually man,it does. It really does.” Steve turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Because now we know that Bucky isn’t just a killing machine. He’s not just rampaging through Hydra facilities and killing everyone he comes across. He’s looking for himself. And yes, he is killing people, but he’s only killing those who hurt him. And as fucked up as it is, that is actually less worse. Because it means he’s still human, and you’re telling yourself you can still save him, that there is still something to save.”

     Steve turned his head and rested his face in the crook of Sam’s neck and shoulder. Sam rubbed between his shoulders as Steve took a few deep calming breaths.

     “Thanks.”

     “Its what I’m here for.”

     Steve felt peaceful, resting against Sam. The weight of everything that had happened to Bucky had been pressing down on him for so long, and Sam so easily took a part of the load onto his own shoulders. It was a welcome respite, Steve was just so tired. He had focused everything on the hunt for Bucky, and it was exhausting. At that moment, all Steve wanted to do was curl up with Sam and sleep. But the guilt pulled at him. He still hadn’t explained everything to Sam and it wouldn’t be fair to start something in the middle of all that. Just as Steve was psyching himself up to force himself to pull away, Sam spoke.

     “That other bed looks squishy. You won’t get any sleep. We should just share this one.”

     Steve smiled gratefully and laid down on the bed with Sam beside him.  Not for the first time, he wished he was small enough to easily fit in Sam’s arms. He missed being completely wrapped up in another person. As they slept, Steve unconsciously curled into Sam, tucking his head under the other man’s chin, his body acting out his wish despite his serum enhanced size. Sam’s arms wound around him and they both slept soundly.

     In the morning they didn’t talk about it. Steve because he didn’t know what to say, and Sam because he didn’t want to push. But despite the lack of actual vocal communication, something shifted between them. They were in each others space more, touching more. A guiding hand on the back, brushing fingers when they handed things over, easy, gentle touches that felt natural. The tension that had been building up from the complete neglect of their soulmate marks, eased.  

      (Steve was glad that nothing was said aloud. He had never been good at talking about these things when the person mattered to him. Brushing off Natasha’s attempts to set him up was one thing, but it was different with Sam. And there were no simple escape route via jumping out of a plane if the conversation went badly.)

      The next 48 hours were harsh. Information came in from Maria Hill, who had gotten it out of some Hydra agents they’d taken down at one of SHIELD’s other bases. Hill’s information provided a small amount of intel on a base they’d previously only had the name of and nothing else. Sam and Steve spent long hours tracking down all they could on the base, blueprints and history and its official cover story. Finally, they found themselves at the facility, an unassuming building on the outskirts of a large city. There was no sign of Bucky. They staked it out, watching as people went in and out. Many acted normally, but a large number were casting nervous glances all around as they went to or from their cars.

     “Bucky either hasn’t been here yet, or isn’t coming. Personally I’m inclined to think its the first.” Steve said as he peered through his binoculars. They were lying in the grass on a small hillock in the field that was on the diagonal from the base. From there they had a clear view of the road, the parking lot beside the base and the main entrance.   

     “I’m inclined to agree with you. Their acting like they’re waiting for something. The staff is twitchy and most of the security force have death grips on their weapons.”

     “So they’ve heard about the other bases and are expecting him.”

     “So what’s your call?” Sam asked.

     “We wait. When Bucky shows, we try and convince him to come home with us.”

     Sam gave Steve a bit of a worried look at that.

     “As much as I respect the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan, that doesn’t actually seem like much of a plan.” Steve actually grinned, causing Sam to raise a confused eyebrow. Steve clapped a hand on to Sam’s shoulder.

     “See, this is why I need you Wilson. To call me on my shit.”

     “And as much as I appreciate you admitting you need me, that does not actually address my concerns.” Steve’s grin turned rueful as he lowered his head and looked up at Sam through his eyelashes.

     “Ah, I’m sorry Sam. You know how I get sometimes.” Steve shyly rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. Sam narrowed his eyes and took a step back.

     “You stop that right now.”

     “Stop what?” Steve asked with a small pout.

     “Stop trying to distract me with those puppy dog eyes and innocent school boy act! You’ve obviously been taking tips from Natasha and I don’t appreciate it!”

     Steve grinned and returned to his regular posture.

     “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I’ve been wanting to use that trick for a while.” Sam huffed, Steve’s grin broadened then faded. “Truth is, I don’t have a concrete plan. I have some ideas… but with Bucky… with Bucky its hard to plan. We don’t know which way he’ll jump. We don’t know how much he remembers and we don’t know what his goals are. He’s unpredictable”

     Sam nodded, “That is all true. But we still need a little more to go on. When do we move on him? As soon as we see him, or do you want to wait until he’s inside? In a more controllable space?”

     Steve thought for a moment, turning his eyes to the building. Suddenly, he grimaced.

     “Too late now.”

     In the two minutes that they had been talking, the employees had scattered and two guards had been shot. The Winter Soldier strode purposefully toward the entrance.

     Sam and Steve launched themselves over the hillock and took off across the street. As they ran, Steve pulled his shield off his back. Both men crashed through the entrance and stopped dead.

     The Soldier held a shaking scientist against a wall with one hand and growled questions in her face. In an instant he dropped her and spun to face Steve and Sam, raising the gun held in his other hand. His eyes passed between the two men before settling on the Steve’s shield. His eyes widened in and panic and he jerked back slightly. His eyes started darting around, searching for an exit. The Winter Soldier was gone, replaced by a scared , broken man.

     “Bucky,” Steve said. Bucky’s eyes briefly focused on him, confusion plain on his face. Steve tried to swallow and speak around the lump in his throat, but it was impossible.  Bucky’s eyes flicked to Sam, who had started talking.

     “Bucky,” he said calmly. “We can help you, just come home.”

     As soon as the words were out of Sam’s mouth, Bucky made a pained noise, and the grip on his gun loosened. He looked at Steve again, this time with something like recognition. Then he grimaced and was running. Sprinting away from them down the hallway.

     “Dammit!” Steve swore as they took off after him. Bucky was fast, but something was slowing him down, soon they’d started to gain on him. Suddenly, Bucky turned unexpectedly and took off down a perpendicular hall. Steve raised his shield to his side, knowing full well he couldn’t bank worth shit and was guaranteed to slam into the wall.

     What he didn’t account for was the strange material the walls were built from. He bounced right off it and careened into Sam, toppling them both to the floor. Sam groaned and gingerly rolled onto his back.

     “We are never telling a soul about what just happened.”

     Steve flipped onto his back as well. “Especially not Natasha.”

     “Too late,” a familiar voice said as Natasha appeared in their field of view.

     Sam grinned at the upside-down redhead. “This is not what you think,” he said.

     “Sure it isn’t,” another voice said from above them. The two lying men looked up to the ceiling to see Clint Barton move a ceiling tile and peer down at them. “It’s not like Nat and I have been staking the place out for the past day and and saw everything happen.”

     “Called it,” Steve said from the ground, showing no signs of standing.

     “Called what?” Natasha asked.

     “Clint,” Steve replied. “And ceiling vents. I knew the sneaky shit wouldn’t be able to resist.” Beside him, Sam giggled quietly.

     “If I had ever imagined meeting Hawkeye, this is not how I would have pictured it going. But given recent events, this actually seems par for the course.” Sam giggled again. “Five bucks says I meet Captain America out jogging, oh wait that already happened. ” Both of them began laughing, oblivious to their companions judging looks.

     Clint raised an eyebrow at Natasha, “ They haven’t really slept much have they?” Clint was giving Natasha a look that clearly asked, _do we tell them that they aren’t funny?_

     Natasha shook her head. “I really, really doubt it.”

     Steve grinned up at the two of them. “We’ve been chasing a brain washed ex-assassin. When would we have had time to sleep?”

     Natasha looked down at him in contemplation. “You’re rather chipper for someone who just let the assassin slip through their fingers.”

     Steve grinned again. “He knew me. He looked at me and he knew me. Bucky’s still there.”

     Natasha and Clint exchanged a skeptical look. “Well, in any case we should drawback and regroup,” she said, as she turned and stalked out of the building. 

 

 


	4. Epiphanies on the Edge of Suburbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Steve talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter and the next are pretty short, so that's why you get two today! I would put them as one chapter, but the flow just works better as two. 
> 
> And thanks to everyone who is reading and commenting and leaving Kudos, it really means a lot. I can't believe all the good vibes. 
> 
> As always, love to my friends.
> 
> Any comments are always appreciated.

      They booked themselves into a motel on the opposite edge of the city from the Hydra base. On the fuzzy border of suburbia, where strip-malls, motels, and bars began to mix with residential houses. They laid out everything they had on one of the dingy double beds; Natasha’s file, blueprints, information taken off of Hydra computers. It painted a picture of where Bucky had been, but with few clues as to where he might go next.

      Sam looked up from the pages. “He’s already hit four facilities and been able to take out veritable fleets of security. So… why’d he run from us? At first he didn’t seem hesitant, then suddenly he panicked and ran. Why? It doesn’t make sense.” Sam directs the last part to Steve, “What did we do?”

      Steve knew exactly what they’d done. He’d seen the words that Sam had spoken marked on Bucky’s skin a million times since they were kids. He’d spent hours worrying about why Bucky would need help. A lifetime had been spent thinking about those words, and he was damn sure it wasn’t his place to tell Sam.

      So he lied.

      “I think its what you said. I mean his memory is all messed up and you’re offering him a home when he hasn’t had one in decades. He probably doesn’t even know what that means anymore. But I’m hoping that it brought up some memories.” Steve was a terrible liar, but as lies went, this wasn’t his worst. It helped that it was partially true.

      Sam and Clint nodded and looked back to the papers on the bed. But Natasha gave him that look. The _I know you’re hiding something and I don’t appreciate it_ look. Steve wondered when they had gotten so good at reading each other. Steve met her eyes and gave a small shake of his head, Natasha raised and eyebrow. Steve sighed quietly and looked at the other two men, they were both wrapped up in a discussion about tactics. Steve looked at Natasha and jerked his head in the direction of the sliding door at the back of the room. Steve stretched.

      "I’m going to check the perimeter,” he announced to the room at large. “Nat?”

      Natasha stood and followed him out the back door. They stood on a small piece of concrete beside a set of sad, stained patio furniture. A gravel road ran between their stoop and the empty fenced in pool. Beyond that, a copse of trees separated the motel from the sprawl of houses behind it. Natasha stood beside Steve, obviously waiting for him to begin. When this didn’t happen, Natasha sighed and took the lead.

      “One, we need to work on your subtlety. Two, I thought you were always honest. Especially with us.” Natasha’s voice was fairly neutral, but Steve thought he heard a hint of disappointment.

      “I am,” he told her.

      “No. You’re holding something back. Something about what made Barnes panic.”

      “It was what Sam said. It shook something loose in Bucky’s head. When he looked at  
me, I could see that he knew me…”

      “Okay. But what about what Sam said. What aren’t you telling me? You’re dancing around it by telling me most of the truth but you’re holding back something .”

      Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair before shoving both into his pockets.

      “Yes. But only because it’s not my place to tell.”

      Natasha narrowed her eyes and looked at Steve for a long moment. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she grinned.

      “This is going to be interesting,” she said. Steve grinned crookedly.

      “That’s a possibility,” he said.

      “Or it could blow up in your face. You know, pain, fire, blood. The whole deal.”

      “I’m really hoping we don’t go for that option.”

      “You gonna tell Sam?”

      “Not my place, even if I did know how to,” Steve said.

      “Well option two is becoming more possible by the minute.”

      Steve grimaced. Natasha stretched her arms and looked back through the glass.

      “I’m calling it. We’re all exhausted. Sleep was earned a long time ago.” She swung her arm around Steve’s waist and dragged him inside. Sam and Clint looked up as the door closed behind them. With a look from Natasha, Clint began to clear the bed of the mess of papers. Sam looked to Steve.

      “Bed time?” he asked. Steve nodded. Both Clint and Sam sighed in relief.

      “I shotty sharing with Natasha,” Clint said. Natasha looked at him.

      “You sure you don’t want to share with Sam? Birds of a feather and all that? You guys could nest, it’d be great.” She grinned wickedly and Clint rolled his eyes as she turned and went into the bathroom. When she came out a few minutes later, Steve and Sam were curled around each other, dead to the world. Clint was stretched out on his back on the other bed, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. Natasha crawled onto the bed and laid her head on Clint’s chest. He unbent his arms so that he could stroke his fingers through her hair.

      “So what’s the Boy Scout not telling us?” he asked softly.

      Natasha was quiet for a moment, her fingertips gently trailing over the Cyrillic letters peeking out from Clint’s pajama collar.

      "Doesn't matter," she said finally. "It's going to come out eventually."

      They were silent for another few moments, as they slowly drifted closer to sleep.

      "You think they'll be able to bring him in?" Clint asked sleepily.

      "Yeah," Natasha answered. "It might take them a while to find him again, but they'll do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! To those of you who guessed that Sam said the words on Buck's heart, congrats! You were right! How does Bucky cope? You will find out soon!
> 
> Also, my beta has become involved in other projects and is no longer available. So I no longer have a unbiased reader. If you're interested in helping me out, message me on my tumblr. Thanks. :)


	5. Lost on the Edge of Suburbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky’s eyes roamed around, landing on everything but Steve.
> 
> “Had to talk to you,” he told the far wall. “Tell you something important."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I promised, a second (short) chapter today.
> 
> A little more angst is ahead.
> 
> Also, there are a couple of Russian proverbs in this chapter. I tried my best to get accurate translations, but if someone sees a mistake, please let me know. (The proverbs are said in English in chapter 6)
> 
> Thanks again for reading.

      Steve woke to early dawn light. At first, he wasn’t sure what had woken him, then he heard it. A quiet whirr coming from outside. He quickly got out of bed, taking care not to wake Sam. The other bed was already empty. As he passed it, Steve saw a note telling him that Natasha planned to check in in a couple days. The post-script was simple, _get your shit together_.

      When Steve slipped through the back door the whirr became clearer, echoing of the empty pool walls. Steve’s feet crunched across the gravel. When he reached to the edge of the empty pool, he saw Bucky sitting at the bottom of the deep end, leaning against the dirty wall, his metal arm whirred as he wrung his hands, the metal plates shifting and gears turning. Abruptly, Bucky stood and began to pace. Steve watched for a moment, trying to find his best friend within the man before him.

      “I know you’re there,” Bucky said slowly. “Come down.”

      When Steve dropped to the floor of the pool, Bucky backed away, so that he was close to the corner and the ladder, the last rung of which was just above Bucky’s height.

      “What are you doing here Bucky?” Steve asked gently. Bucky’s eyes roamed around, landing on everything but Steve.

      “Had to talk to you,” he told the far wall. “Tell you something important.”

      Steve thought he would continue, but when he didn’t Steve prompted, “What do you need to tell me Bucky?”

      Bucky finally met his eyes. “You have to stop chasing me Steve.”

      Hearing his name out of Bucky’s mouth was like a punch to the gut. Any joy he would have felt from Bucky knowing him was cut through by the way it was said, like Bucky was unsure, his tongue still struggling with the word. Steve braced himself, realizing that even though Bucky had come to him, his mind was still scattered. This conversation was going to be hard.

      “Come with me Bucky. Then we won’t have to chase anymore.”

      Bucky shook his head. His eyes wide and bloodshot.

      “I can’t. They …they hurt for knowing you cause I’m... no good. No good for you…”

      Steve wanted to rage. He wanted to wrench apart everyone who had laid their hands on his best friend and broken him into the man that shook before him.

      “You’ve always been good for me Buck,” he said instead.

      Bucky shook his head and began to pace again. tension held his whole body, making him look like a caged animal ready to pounce.

      “I… I _remember_ … I remember being… being  yours. The flames licked the words on my chest and then there were all these _things_ in my head...but _I’m not there_.  Need to find me... _Tam net stydno ne znat'; pozor zaklyuchayetsya v ne uznat'_.” Bucky stopped pacing and looked at Steve with an intensity that hadn’t been there before.

      “It’s okay Bucky…” Steve began before Bucky interrupted him.

      “Even if I’m not the same Bucky? Can’t be the same? If I’m just pieces of him and it and me? I’d still be yours?”

      “Of course Bucky. Just come back with me. We’ll help you.”

      Bucky backed up again, the tension returning to his body, but with no pacing to bleed it off it just seemed to make his whole being vibrate.

      “Can’t. Not yet. _Srubit' derevo vy v sostoyanii_. I can start to cut. Just start. Be more okay.”

      “Bucky you need help to get better, it’ll be too hard on your own.” Steve wanted to wrap his arms around Bucky and hold on before he shook himself apart.

      “I know,” Bucky said, nodding. “But I have miles to go. Can’t sleep with all these sharp edges. I’ll just cut you. I’ll come back when they’re duller.”

      Steve couldn’t be happy with a maybe soon, he wanted Bucky back now, but he was already backing away towards the ladder.

      “What about Sam?” Steve asked desperately. “The man who was with me today, he said the words.” A pained look came over Bucky’s face.

      “Don’t say anything. I wanted to say the words back, but I don’t know what they are yet.” Bucky grabbed the ladder and hauled himself up onto the rung.

      “But what about Hydra?” Steve called after him. “ You keep killing their men, they’ll come down on you. You’ll never be able to come home.” Bucky paused at the top of the ladder.

      “I’ll stop.” He stepped onto the concrete deck and looked down at Steve. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said, his voice straight from 1943.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be more happiness in the next chapter. (and also more actual chapter. the last two were rather short, sorry) Though it's going to be a few days before I can post it. I have a busy weekend planned. 
> 
> If you think there is anything I've failed to tag, please let me know. 
> 
> My love to everyone who has left comments and kudos. And love to everyone who reads. Just, love.


	6. The Terrifying World Tour Comes To An Abrupt End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam found him half an hour later, sitting at the bottom of the empty pool, surrounded by leaves and bracken, hands clasped between his legs, staring at the place Bucky had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I lied by accident. I forgot how I'd split the chapter up, so you don't actually get the Russian in English until the next chapter (which I will hopefully post in a couple days).  
> But I hope you like this chapter anyways!
> 
> Thank you all for reading :) 
> 
> Love to enjolgay and phonecallfromgod without whom this whole fic would probably have crashed in flames by now.

      Sam found him half an hour later, sitting at the bottom of the empty pool, surrounded by leaves and bracken, hands clasped between his legs, staring at the place Bucky had been. Without hesitation, Sam climbed down beside him. When Steve didn’t move or acknowledge him, Sam nudged him with his shoulder.

      “You here man?”

      Steve shook himself and looked at Sam.

      “Yeah,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

      “What happened? And don’t say nothing because I know you didn’t come down here for your health.” Steve smiled, and Sam had known him long enough at this point to recognize the sad-smile when it made an appearance, he braced himself for bad news.

      “I talked to Bucky.” Sam’s eyes widened and his brows threatened to merge with his hairline. Steve continued, “I was right. What you said brought up some of his old memories. But he’s still all scattered, doesn’t know who he is. He kept slipping into Russian. And he wants us to stop chasing him.” Steve paused.

      “Are we going to listen?” Sam asked neutrally.  Steve nodded and looked down at his clasped hands.

      “He says he’s not ready to come back, and frankly, if we keep going after him I don’t think he’ll want to.”

      “He’s not _ready_?”

      Steve nodded again, “He wants to find more of himself before he comes home.”

      Sam mulled the information over, examining it from a few different angles before asking his next question.

      “What about Hydra? He can’t just keep hitting bases and killing people. That's physically and psychologically damaging.”

      Steve looked off into the distance, “he said he’ll stop. He knows it will eventually get him caught and he doesn’t want that.”

      Sam nodded, looking at Steve’s profile in the morning light. He was still as stone. As if, without the goal of finding Bucky guiding him forward, he didn’t know how to move at all. Sam understood losing your wingman, but Steve had lost Bucky twice. Sam didn’t want to think about how it would feel to find Riley in broken pieces just to lose him again. As much as it was supposed to be temporary, there was no guarantee that Bucky would come back to them. Sam knew that Steve was wallowing in that fact. Sam got to his feet and help out a hand for Steve. Steve stared at it blankly for a moment before meeting Sam’s eyes.

      “Come on man,” Sam said. “We are not hanging out here all day. If we’re going to hit the road home this afternoon, I want to lie down some more.” Steve nodded and grabbed Sam’s arm to be hauled to his feet.

       The sun had risen higher while they spoke, heat beating down on their backs as they walked across the gravel. The room was warm when they entered.

      “You can turn the AC on, if you want,” Steve said.

      “Nah. I know how much you hate the cold. I have a pair of basketball shorts I can sleep in. You want a pair?” Steve nodded. Sam rifled through his duffle and threw a pair of shorts in Steve’s direction. Sam changed and turned to see that Steve had done the same. He stood, staring at the bed as though it had personally offended him. Sam gave him a gentle shove towards it.  “I don’t care if you sleep, just lie down. Okay?”  Steve nodded and crawled into the bed, lying on his side. Sam joined him, lying so they were face to face. “You going to be okay?”

      “Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything and its hard.” Sam reached out and ran a comforting hand up and down Steve’s shoulder. Steve leaned into the touch and shuffled closer. “He was so different. And he’s not going to be the same. The Bucky I knew is gone.” There was that sad smile again. “He said there were only parts of the old Bucky left.” Sam examined Steve’s face and realized that he was blaming himself all over again for what had happened to Bucky.

      “Steve,” Sam began. “If you and Bucky had survived the war and made it back State side, would you have been the same men that had shipped out?” Steve shook his head. “Would you have been able to live with that? With the things you did, with being changed men?” Steve thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Then you’ll be able to live with this. And Bucky remembers you. He remembers you and he wants to come home. I’d take that as a pretty good indicator that there are good parts of Bucky left.”

      Steve came out of his thousand yard stare and looked at Sam gratefully. They were closer now, Steve could see the flecks of leaves that had stuck to Sam’s cheek when they were outside. Steve looked down again, feeling a faint blush beginning at the back of his neck. His eyes landed on Sam’s muscled chest and were drawn to his right collarbone. Steve reached out his hand slowly, eyes flicking up to Sam for permission. When he nodded, Steve lightly brushed his fingers across the marked _on your left_. A shiver ran down both their spines. Steve then saw the words on Sam’s other collarbone, he grinned despite himself.

      “Yeah. ‘Sorry I broke your door.’ Don’t think I haven’t been wondering about _that_ my entire life.”

      Steve’s hand drifted to the center of Sam’s chest, to the point where dog tags would hang. His sensitive fingers moved over the words there, feeling the difference in texture. _You ready to fly?_ they read.

      “Riley’s words?” Steve asked quietly. Sam nodded.

      “First and last. I wasn’t lucky enough to be born with them. But he was my wingman. And when he went down I needed something to hold on to. They ground me, ironically.” In the silence that followed, Sam reached out and touched the words above Steve’s heart. “Bucky’s?” he asked.

      Steve nodded, a lopsided grin taking over his face. “History books got everything, don’t they?”

      Sam shook his head. “I could just tell. The way you talk about him, and what you’d do for him.” Sam paused. “Were you and him…” Steve was shaking his head before Sam could even finish. “But you wanted..?”

      “I loved Bucky. But we were always just friends. Brothers in arms. Platonic.”

      “And now?”

      Steve thought for a moment. “Now Bucky doesn’t know who he is and neither do I. I’m going to try and be there for him, be what he needs. Which is probably a friend.”

      “And if he wants more?” Sam asked it neutrally, but Steve knew it was important. He had to tell the truth, but he still couldn’t give anything away. Steve knew how he hoped things would turn out, but there were too many variables. He had no idea what was going to happen with Bucky, and he was tired of wanting and waiting. He wanted to be happy, and Sam made him happy.

      “I dunno Sam. I don’t know if Bucky will ever want that. And if he does… well, there is this other fella that I like a lot and I’d have to talk to him about it first.” Steve gave Sam a significant look and watched as a slow grin broke across his face.

      “Oh thank God. Because I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Sam leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Steve’s. A small, happy sound escaped Steve’s mouth, causing Sam to press in harder. Steve’s hands moved of their own accord, dragging Sam close so that their chests were flush, skin on skin. Steve’s hand then moved up and down Sam’s side, gripping at his hips when Steve felt Sam’s tongue sweep across his bottom lip. Steve moaned, but Sam pulled back. Steve groaned at the loss and opened his eyes, not knowing when he’d closed them.

      Sam looked into his eyes with an intensity Steve wasn’t used to. “You sure this is what you want?” Sam asked.

      “Yes Sam! I want this a lot!”

      “You don’t want to take it slow?”

      “No, Sam. Slow is the opposite of what I want. I’ve wanted you for so long and I’ve finally got my hands on you and you go and …" Sam cut him off by kissing him again. Steve sighed happily, feeling Sam’s grin against his mouth.

  
  
      Later, Steve was lying on his front, feeling floaty and sated. Sweat dried on his skin, leaving him cold, but it was Sam’s fingers across his back that was causing him to shiver.

      “Were they hard to look at when you were a kid?” Sam asked softly.

      “Yeah,” Steve answered with a small smile. “There was a lot of twisting and mirrors involved.”

      “They’re right where my wings sit,” Sam said as he ran his fingers across them again. Steve nodded sleepily. Sam yawned, reaching down to grab the twisted sheets and throw them on top of them. Soon, they were both asleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! And commenting! And kudos! I love hearing from you. :)
> 
> Next chapter will be up by late thursday maybe early friday, just doing some final edits.


	7. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve rolled over and picked up his buzzing cellphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Its the Russian translation finally! (I really hope I got those right)
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy:)

 

      Steve rolled over and picked up his buzzing cellphone. The caller ID told him it was Natasha, though he didn’t remember putting in that particular burner number. Quietly, he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats, before slipping out the door to answer it. He leaned against the wall and surveyed the parking lot as he picked up.

      “You’re checking in early,” he said. “Your note said a few days.”

      “You’re four hours past your average checkout time, I thought it best to move up the schedule. What happened?”

      “We were just catching up on some shut eye,” Steve told her.

      “Uh-huh. ‘Cause you got none of that last night. Don’t lie to me Steve, you aren’t good at it.”

      Steve huffed a laugh before taking a deep breath. “Bucky was here this morning,” he said finally. The line was quiet, Natasha obviously waiting for Steve to continue. “I was right about his memories. But his mind is in pieces. He was confused, switched to Russian a couple times. And at one point I’m pretty sure he quoted Robert Frost.”

      “What did he say in Russian?” Natasha asked.

      Steve closed his eyes, Bucky’s face appearing in his mind’s eye. Steve repeated the two phrases Bucky had said, his tongue struggling with the foreign syllables.

      “They’re Russian proverbs,” Natasha told him. “The first one means; ‘there is no shame in not knowing, the shame comes from not finding out,’. And the second means; ‘you cut the tree that you can.’”

      “That makes a lot of sense actually,” Steve said.

      “Oh?” Natasha asked.

      “Yeah. Bucky was talking about finding himself, trying to put the pieces of himself back together before coming back to us.”

      “Wait, are you saying you’re not bringing Barnes in?”

      “No,” Steve said on a sigh. “We’re not. He’ll find us when he decides he’s ready for help.”

      “You know that’s completely idiotic right?” Natasha said viciously. “Zola’s knock-off Serum is going to start healing his brain and Barnes is going to come apart at the seams. Implanted memories are going to start warring with real ones, not to mention the layers of Soviet and Hydra programming that are going to try and dig in as they disintegrate. He shouldn’t be alone for that.”

       “I can’t do anything Natasha! God, I want to, but I can’t! He’s gone to ground. Even if I could find him, there’s no guarantee that I could bring him in without him or us getting hurt!”

      “And what if he hurts someone else?” Natasha demanded.

      “He won’t,” Steve said immediately. “He doesn’t want to. I could see that. He wants to come home, but he’s afraid of hurting me or Sam. He doesn't want to hurt innocent people.”

       “His programming might not give him a choice, HYDRA turned him into a literal weapon. He’s not just going to snap out of that and suddenly remember how to act like a human” Natasha said. Steve had no answer to that. Natasha let out a long, exasperated breath. “Well, its obvious I’m not going to get anywhere with you. But that doesn’t mean you’re right. I’m setting up a computer program that will search for any signs of Barnes. Kills with the Soldier’s MO, facial recognition around known Hydra bases, that sort of thing.”

       “Thank you,” Steve said. There was a pause, then Natasha spoke again.

       “What else held you guys up? I doubt Barnes accounts for all four hours.”

       Steve blushed, but managed to keep his voice steady. “We were taking your advice,” he said. “Getting our shit together.”

       “I figured as much, considering I called Sam’s phone,” Natasha said, Steve could practically hear her grinning through the phone.

       Not a moment after Natasha had hung up, Sam popped his head out the door,

       “What’s up?” he asked.

       “Nothing. Just Natasha checking in. “

       “‘Kay. Get in here and pack. If we hit the road in the next hour, we’ll be able to make it back to DC before midnight.”

       Steve followed Sam back into the room, swinging an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. Sam turned his head and kissed Steve gently, pulling away after only a moment. Steve made a noise of complaint that just made Sam laugh.  

       “Man, as much as I would love a repeat of last night, can we wait until we’re home and in a decent bed?”

       Steve grinned and set to work packing his duffle.

       They were just about done when the door opened behind them. Both men turned automatically, dropping into fighting stances. A woman was at the door, obviously startled, and holding cleaning supplies. Sam and Steve relaxed, though they stepped closer to each other.

       “Your check-out time was an hour ago,” the woman admonished.

       “I’m really sorry,” Sam said as he slung an arm low around Steve’s hips. “We’re on our way to our honeymoon, after the wedding yesterday and all the driving we accidentally slept in.” Following Sam’s lead, Steve gripped Sam’s shoulder and lowered his head in embarrassment.

       “Uh, yeah, we’re married,” Steve said. The woman raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

       “And you’re _driving_ to your honeymoon?” she asked skeptically. Steve used his unoccupied hand to rub the back of his neck ruefully, he let out an awkward laugh before meeting the woman’s eyes.

       “Yeah, we uh, thought it would be romantic to start out with a cross country tour. We got a little lost though. We crashed here pretty late last night.”

       The woman looked between Steve, with his bright red neck, and Sam, with his honest smile. After a moment she shrugged.

       “I’ll do the next room first, just try and clear out in the next half hour.” She turned and left. As soon as the door closed, Steve sagged against Sam, his head resting in the crook of Sam’s shoulder and neck.  

       "Let’s not do that again,” Steve said.

       “What?” Sam asked. “You’re the only one who is allowed to learn tricks from Natasha? Besides, you were fine. You’re acting is getting better”

       “One) I cannot believe she told you that story, and two) it really, really isn’t.”

       Sam grinned at Steve and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

      “Come on, lets get going, we don’t want to run into her again. You’ll get so red you’ll combust.” Sam stepped away as Steve playfully pinched his side. Thankfully, they were able to load up the car without running into the woman again. Steve sighed in relief as they pulled out of the lot, Sam laughed from the driver’s seat. He reached a hand over and squeezed Steve’s thigh.

      “Ready to go home?” he asked.

      Steve looked at the highway that stretched before him. Even though Bucky wasn’t with him, he had more hope than he’d had at the beginning of this trip. He turned to smile at Sam.

      “I do what you do,” he said. “Only faster.”

       Sam laughed, both hands going back to the steering wheel as he took the turn onto the Interstate headed for DC.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the plan is to try and finish this before I start school on the 4th, hopefully that will happen. But this means that I have to stay on a schedule of writing and editing and posting along with my actual job. Any encouraging words you can offer are much appreciated.
> 
> And if you're missing our wayward ex-assassin, don't worry. You'll see him soon.


	8. And Finally, He Found Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Sam can finally stop wondering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! (Its like 1 am my time, so it counts)
> 
> Sorry that I haven't been super regular with updates. I've been really out of it for the past week because the hella strong allergy drugs they had me on completely messed with my sleep.(Hence being awake right now when I really really tried to go to bed at a decent hour)
> 
> Thanks to enjolgay and phonecallfromgod who had to deal with some particularly messy chapters this week. Love you guys so much. <3
> 
> Anyways, chapter 8 here we go!

 

      Over the next few weeks they fell into something vaguely resembling a routine. In the morning, they would go running. Then Sam would head to the VA for work. Steve spent his mornings sifting through all the information Natasha had dumped on the internet. He looked for anything that had a connection to Bucky, as well as anything that could lead to previously unknown bases or Hydra members who were still hiding in plain sight. When he got hungry, he’d make himself something to eat while the files transferred to Natasha. Then he would wait, hoping she would get back to him with an update on Bucky. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t.

      When she did, it was usually a hit from facial recognition. Bucky was still hitting Hydra bases, still looking for himself. But he’d completely changed his MO. He would hit them in the middle of the night and go through their computers, taking the data he needed and leaving their system wide open for anyone to take advantage of. And take advantage Natasha did. The files Natasha had gotten her hands on thanks to Bucky had revealed dozens of previously unknown Hydra agents and supporters, as well as providing details on a number of their programs and experiments. But for Steve, the most important thing that Natasha said was that their were still zero casualties from each attack.

      In the afternoon, Steve liked to wear the glasses Natasha had given him and explore Sam’s neighbourhood. He liked meeting people and helping out where he could, whether it was holding something heavy or looking after a couple rambunctious toddlers for an hour. If any of Sam’s neighbours realized he was Captain America, they didn’t say anything. It was a pretty close knit community, and it reminded Steve of when he was a kid.

      Some days, he would join Sam at the VA for a group meeting. He liked the meetings, he found that even though his war had begun so long ago, he could still connect with these Vets. He hoped that someday Bucky would be well enough to come to one; he could do with the reminder that he wasn’t alone in this.

      Other days, Steve would spend hours in the kitchen, trying to master a new recipe. The first time Steve had cooked for Sam, he had been informed that it was the 21st century and it ‘really wasn’t necessary to boil everything’. Steve liked cooking, it required focus and a set of skills that he’d never had to develop before. He’d often get lost in the process, not noticing that Sam had come home until he’d snaked his arms around Steve’s waist while he stood stirring something. Sam would kiss Steve’s cheek and set the table for dinner.

      Nights were Sam and Steve’s favourite part of the day. At night they would try and catch Steve up on 70 years of popular culture. They’d started with Steve’s list and then moved on to Sam’s favourite movies and TV shows from the past couple decades. Sometimes, they’d get a text from Natasha that would simply be a title with zero context. Her recommendations were often foreign films Sam had never heard of and they both enjoyed watching something new together. Other nights, they would just watch whatever was on TV. These were usually the nights after Sam had had a rough day at the VA, or Steve had gone to visit Peggy. Nights when neither of them had the energy to do anything but curl up and press the power button.   

  
  


      It was a Thursday when their routine was completely blown out of the water.

 

      They’d finished the final episode of Buffy and put on some dumb action flick in hope of cheering Sam up (Sam always got a little emotional about Buffy, he’d watched it with his sisters when they were younger). Steve had quickly gotten bored of the movie and decided to distract Sam in other ways (this was not the first time that movie nights had devolved into make outs on the couch). They’d gotten to the part where they were both shirtless and hands had begun to move south, when the front door burst open. Steve looked up from his position under Sam to see Bucky crouched in a fighting position just inside the door.

      “Bucky?” Steve asked in a daze. Bucky’s gaze flicked over Sam and Steve and then to the TV, a high pitched noise escaped his throat as realization dawned and his eyes widened. Bucky quickly spun on his heels and was back out the door.

      “Bucky! Wait!” Steve shouted after him. He looked up at Sam, panic clear in his eyes. Sam immediately rolled off him so that Steve could dash out the door. Bucky was waiting on the front stoop, his eyes scanning up and down the quiet, empty street. He wore a black hoody and dark jeans, both of which had seen better days. His hair was greasy and hung lank around his face.

      “Sorry,” Bucky said, his voice gravelly from lack of use. “I heard the fight from the TV and the groans and reacted without thinking. Sorry.” Bucky’s shoulders were hunched and he wouldn’t look at Steve.

      “It’s okay Buck, it’s fine.”

      “But I was wrong. And I broke it. I’m sorry.”

      “It’s alright. Nothing that can’t easily be fixed.” Bucky still wasn’t looking at Steve, but the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly. “Why don’t come inside and meet Sam? I’m sure he’s been looking forward to a proper introduction.” Bucky nodded jerkily then turned to face the damaged door. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before crossing the threshold. Steve followed.

      Sam, who’d had the forethought to put his shirt back on,  stood up from the couch and took a small step towards them. Before he could say anything Bucky was already blurting out an apology.

      “Sorry I broke your door,” Bucky said, making eye contact for just a moment before his gaze began flicking around Sam’s small house, eyes assessing everything. The shock momentarily forced all the air from Sam’s lungs. He had to take a deep breath before he could answer.

      “It’s okay, I’m sure we can fix it,” he said shooting a glare in Steve’s direction. Steve looked sheepish and began inspecting his shoes. Sam rolled his eyes and forced his focus back to Bucky. The ex-assassin was obviously on edge, both hands curled into fists. “You hungry?” Bucky looked to Steve, who smiled at him encouragingly, Bucky nodded slightly. “Well, why doesn’t Steve grab you some clean clothes and show you how the shower works? I’ll have something ready for you by the time you’re done.” Bucky nodded again and Steve showed him down the hall and into the bathroom. Sam let out a long sigh and went into the kitchen.

 

      Bucky sat on the edge of the bath as he waited for Steve to come back with clean clothes. He looked up when Steve entered, holding a black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

      “These should fit you,” he said, putting the folded clothes on the closed toilet lid.

      “Is, uh, Sam mad?” Bucky asked quietly, his brows furrowed, obviously trying to remember if he’d got the name right. Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

      “I dunno, Buck. Maybe?” Steve said. “But if he is, it’s at me, not you.”

      “Sorry,” Bucky said. “I didn’t mean to make things hard.”

      "No, Bucky, its not your fault. Seriously, if Sam’s mad its because of something I didn’t tell him, okay? Its not because of you coming here, we both want you here.” Bucky didn’t say anything in response, so Steve straightened in order to show Bucky the shower controls. As Steve leaned beside him, Bucky shifted away from him, causing Steve to cringe internally. He made a mental note to warn Bucky before entering his space in the future. Steve pointed to the various knobs on the shower wall. “That one turns it on and controls pressure, the one over there controls temperature. And uh.. on the shelf over there, there’s-”

      “Steve, stop,” Bucky said, interrupting him. “ I got it. Go make things right.”

      Steve smiled at Bucky and stood to leave, “Holler if you need anything,” he said as he closed the door behind him. He waited outside until he heard the sound of the shower before he went to join Sam in the kitchen.

 

      Sam was standing in front of the stove, reheating the soup Steve had made that day. Steve leaned against the door frame, unsure how to start the conversation Sam obviously wanted to have.

      “How’s he doing?” Sam asked calmly.  

      “A little better I think,” Steve answered, stepping into the kitchen. “He’s making complete sentences now. But he still acts like he expects every touch to be a blow. And sometimes he looks at me like he’s trying to remember something but can’t grasp all of it.” Sam nodded, continuing to stir.

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked after a moment. Steve cringed, dreading where this conversation might lead.

      “Because I honestly believed it wasn’t my place. And if you disagree with that I am sorry.  But Bucky came to me that day and he was so scared and he didn’t want me to tell you. He wasn’t ready.”

      “ _He_ wasn’t ready? What about me? Did it not cross your mind that maybe I could use some time to sort through the fact that _The Winter Soldier_ is my other soulmate?”

      “Sam this is _Bucky_. My best friend. And he needs me. And I’m sorry, I really am. Given what I had, I thought I was making the best decision.” Steve took a deep breath before continuing, “I understand if you need some time. I can find somewhere for me and Bucky to stay for a bit-”

      Before Steve could finish the thought, Sam had spun around and gripped both of Steve’s arms. “That is not what I’m saying man. Yes I am pissed about your choices, and yes this is going to take some getting used to, but I would never ask you to leave. Neither of you.”

      Steve sagged in relief and pulled Sam into a tight hug.

      “I’m sorry,” Steve said again.

      Sam pulled back and turned to the soup still sitting on the stove, but as he did so he took one of Steve’s hands in his and laced their fingers together so that they were still connected.

      “He gonna be cool with us being together?” Sam asked.

      "I think so yeah,” Steve answered, stepping close so he could rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder.

      “Okay. But I think we should probably keep things a little more PG, until he gets more used to us, and to having other people around him again.”

      Steve nodded in agreement. Then he released Sam in order to pop some bread in the toaster for Bucky. A few minutes later, Bucky shuffled into the doorway, his gaze firmly locked on his feet.

      “It’s okay if I come in?” he asked quietly.

      “Yeah, man. Its cool,” Sam answered easily. “I promise I won’t scar your precious eyes again.” Bucky looked at Sam and the corner of his mouth crooked minutely.

      “We made soup and toast,” Steve said. Setting a plate and bowl down in front of one of the chairs. Bucky nodded and took a seat. Sam and Steve took two of the other chairs, sipping glasses of water and trying not to stare too much. Bucky slowly ate a few spoonfuls of soup. And then grabbed his toast. He looked at it and his head cocked to the side slightly.

      “Something is missing,” he said quietly.

      You want butter?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded without looking at him. Sam fetched the butter and sat it in front of Bucky, without failing to notice that Bucky leaned back slightly, so they were never too close. Bucky proceeded to butter his toast and rip it up into strips to dunk in the soup. Then he put the toast down and took a couple more spoonfuls, like he was experimenting with the best way to eat soup with no orders or programming guiding him.

      "So the situation is this. The spare room is currently filled with Steve’s junk, and the bed is impossible to get to. You okay sleeping on the couch until I can clean it up after work tomorrow? We’ll put sheets and pillows and blankets down for you,” Sam said. Bucky looked up, eyes flickering around the room without settling, and nodded. Then he looked down at his soup and gave it a few gentle stirs. Sam looked at Bucky and he understood why Steve fought so hard to protect this man. He had been broken so many times and put back together without any care for the man underneath. He had been scooped out and something else had been shoved in his place. But Bucky was fighting for himself, he was holding on so tightly but he needed so much help.

      “Bucky,” Sam said calmly. “You came back to us because you wanted to right?” Bucky nodded again, and swallowed, clearing his throat.

      “You said I could come… come home,” he said, words tumbling out of his mouth like he had carried them so long they had taken on a weight of their own.

      “Of course Bucky,” Sam said. “Wherever me and Steve are you are welcome.” Bucky nodded very slowly, a focused gleam in his eyes like he wanted those words to stick in his mind, so he could carry them now. “And Bucky, did you come home because you are ready for help?” Bucky looked at Sam, making eye contact for longer than moment.

      “Yes,” he said, a small amount of fierceness in his voice. He looked at Steve then and repeated, “Yes.” Steve’s sad smile made an appearance, but it was more hopeful than sad this time.

      “That’s good Bucky,” Sam said, as Steve was obviously at a loss for words. “Steve and me are going to help you as best we can. But we can’t do it alone. Tomorrow, I am going to call some people I trust and I am going to find the best person to help you through everything. That alright?” Bucky nodded, looking down again, fingers tearing at the toast.

      “I’m about ready to hit the hay,” Steve said. “I’ll go set up the couch.” He stood and left the room. Bucky watched him as he went, his fingers still methodically tearing the toast into shreds.

      "I’m going to clean up, tell me when you’re done eating and I’ll put your bowl in the dishwasher.” Sam stood and headed to the stove, where he put the rest of the soup back in its container and stashed it in the fridge. He turned around and Bucky was standing with his half full bowl and his shredded toast and looking a little lost. Sam gently took the dishes from Bucky’s hands, nodding his head towards the sink. “There’s a cloth there to clean your hands and there’s a spare toothbrush under the bathroom sink that is your’s if you want it.” Bucky wiped his hands and headed in the direction of the bathroom. Sam sighed quietly and finished cleaning up.

      When he was done, he headed towards the bedroom. As he passed the living room, he saw Bucky sitting on the couch and staring at the door, Steve had shoved it back into its frame and stuck a heavy chair in front to keep it closed.

      “Goodnight,” Sam called to him. Bucky raised his head slightly in acknowledgement.

      In the bedroom, Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed wringing his hands. Sam stripped to his boxers and crawled into the bed, tugging at Steve so he would follow. When Steve lay down, Sam began to carefully undo the buttons of his shirt.

      “I’m not happy with how it all went down. But I am happy that he came home to us. We are going to get him the help he needs, and we are going to be the friends he needs. But right now, we are going to curl up and go to sleep because it has been a long ass day and I have to work in the morning, and I do not want to go a night without you in my arms,” as Sam finished, the tension leaked right out of Steve. He shucked his pants and tossed them off the bed. He buried his head in Sam’s chest as he threw one of the blankets over the two of them.

      “I am sorry Sam,” he said. “I never meant to upset you.”

      "I know Steve, I know.” Sam stroked the back of Steve’s head, the comfort lulling them both to sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voilà! 
> 
> Our wayward assassin is home! And you got a little domestic Sam/Steve!
> 
> Thanks for reading and all your support. I love to hear from you :)


	9. He's Home But He's Not There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldier had come to Steve.  
> But the Soldier is still lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry I haven't updated for a while. Myself and my editors all moved back to school so things have been a more than a little busy. 
> 
> Endless love to walkerssmonroe (previously enjolgay) and phonecallfromgod (both on tumblr) for listening to me babble endlessly about this thing, and then going and editing it as well. I could not live without your support and encouragement. Also, phonecallfromgod is an editor extraordinaire and so generous with ideas. 
> 
> I want to thank all of you for reading. I am completely astounded by the response this has received. I cannot believe how many people have read it and given kudos and commented. You are all really really wonderful. And if I haven't replied to your comment yet, I am sorry I promise to do it soon.

      In the morning, both Steve and Sam hit snooze when their running alarms went off. Instead, they slept in. Sam rolled out of bed with enough time to grab a coffee before running out the door. As he passed through the living room he saw that Bucky was still sitting watching the door.

      “Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

      “Perimeter wasn’t secure,” Bucky answered.

      “Okay . Well, one of my brothers-in-law will be over later to help Steve fix it.” Sam noticed Bucky tense at the mention of a stranger, “he’ll call ahead, so if you want to make yourself scarce, you can. We’re not going to make you meet anyone until you’re ready.” Bucky nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Steve should be up soon. Remind him that he promised to start cleaning up your room.” Sam gave a wave and forced his way out the door.

      Forty-five minutes later, Steve strolled into the living room and placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of Bucky. Steve ran a hand through his sleep ruffled hair and took and sip from his own mug. Bucky carefully wrapped his hands around the steaming mug. His flesh and blood hand quickly warmed, but it took a long moment for the heat to seep through the metal and hit the sensors.

      In the past, this delay would have concerned the Soldier. Care and upkeep of weapons was important to the success of the mission. The mission was important to his superiors.

      But the Soldier had no superiors now. No mission given from on high.

      Just the mission he had given himself. To find James Barnes among Hydra’s rubble.

      But the Soldier was failing the mission. All he could find were pieces, fragments scattered in the debris.  

      James Barnes was in pieces and everything else led back to Steve.

      So the Soldier had come to Steve.

      The Soldier knew that the words on his ribs were a promise. They had always been there, no matter how much Hydra had cut and tore, or how dirty the Soldier’s hands had become, the words had always shone through the blood and the scar tissue.

      The words belonged to Steve and the words were a promise and Steve would know how to complete the mission.

      Steve knew the Soldiers past, knew Barnes’ past, Steve would know where the broken pieces were supposed to fit together.

      Steve would help complete the mission.

      Steve and… and Sam.

      The man who flew.

      The man whose house they were in.

      The man who had offered the Soldier _home._

      Sam was a different promise. And the Soldier didn’t know what the promise was yet.

     

      Steve sank into the couch next to the Soldier, leaning back and closing his eyes. The Soldier was supposed to do something. Sam had asked Barnes to do something.

      “Cleaning,” he blurted. Steve cracked an eye and looked in the Soldier’s direction. “You’re supposed to start cleaning,” he told him. Steve opened his eyes fully and stood.

      “Sam has been on me to do this for over a week, I really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s already roped you into helping to guilt me.” Steve downed the rest of his coffee and stretched. “Do you want to come with me? I won’t make you do anything. You can just sit with me and watch.”The Soldier shook his head. Steve looked at him a moment longer. “Okay. Well, I’ll be in the first room on the left if you need me. ”

      Steve left.

      The Soldier went back to watching the door and listening for any threats that might approach from the rear of the house. Every so often he stood, and walked a circuit through the house, leaving his cold coffee abandoned on the table. He checked the doors and windows and would sneak a peek at Steve, who had left the door to the spare room open. The first two times the Soldier walked by Steve was sorting items and boxes into two piles. The third time, he was repacking the one pile so it fit into fewer boxes. The fourth time, he was sorting the other pile into two smaller piles. The fifth time, the Soldier stopped and stepped into the room. Steve was carefully packing items into two hard cases.

      When Steve noticed the Soldier’s presence, he turned to face him, running a hand through his hair and surveying the mess around him.

      “I didn’t realize how much junk was in here," he said. The Soldier looked at him in question. “Well, that stuff over there,” Steve said, pointing to the pile of a few boxes, “is stuff from my old apartment that I will never need and we can just give away. Don’t know why any of it has stuck around this long.” The Soldier pointed to the packed but not sealed boxes at Steve’s feet and raised an eyebrow in question. “That’s stuff I’m keeping but I need Sam’s help with deciding where we’re going to put it.” The Soldier nodded in understanding. He took a step forward and looked down into the hard cases that Steve had been packing with such care.

      “Your art supplies,” the Soldier said, kneeling and carefully caressing a hand over a couple of paintbrushes.

      “Yeah,” Steve said with a grin. “I can get my hands on a lot of different materials these days, so I’ve been experimenting. I just need to find somewhere I can keep them on hand.” Steve’s phone began to ring, a tune the Soldier vaguely recognized and made Steve smile. “That’ll be Sam’s brother-in-law,” the Soldier’s metal hand curled tightly around the edge of the case. “You want to stay in here while we fix the door?” Steve asked. The Soldier nodded, hand releasing.

      The Soldier examined the contents of the cases as he listened to Steve open the front door and greet another man. Images of small hands putting pencil to paper filtered into the Soldier’s mind as working sounds filled the house. The Soldier stretched out his legs, leaning back against the bed and let the images fill his brain. Steve, smaller and younger than the Steve down the hall, sat wrapped in a blanket and stubbornly pushed his pencil across the page, even as his body shook with coughs. Steve looked up, grinning as he turned the sketchbook...The image faded from the Soldier’s mind, while an unfamiliar pleasant feeling lingered.

      The Soldier’s eyes drooped. His body pulled him towards sleep. his muscles ached for a chance to rest and recharge. With Steve awake and working on the door the perimeter was as secure as it was going to be for the foreseeable future. The Soldier resettled his body into a position that wouldn’t cause any muscle cramps and let his mind fall into the waiting blackness.

 

* * *

 

      The Soldier snapped into consciousness in an instant, lunging into a standing position. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows. Sam stood in the doorway, shirt half-untucked, obviously just home from work. He looked around the room and then shrugged.

      “At least he started,” Sam muttered to himself.

      The Soldier rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension that had gripped them as he slept. Sam noticed the motion and turned to him, giving him an assessing look.

      “How’d you sleep?” he asked. The Soldier shrugged. “You dream?” The Soldier looked at Sam. He did not have the demeanor of the multitude of scientists who had asked him similar questions over the years. Those men had poked and prodded and generally treated him like a particularly interesting strain of mold that had somehow developed the ability to speak. Sam wanted to know because he was concerned. He cared…

      “Falling. Always cold and falling,” the Soldier said quietly.

      “You cold when you wake up?” Sam asked. The Soldier thought for a moment and then nodded. “Steve’s like that too. He’ll wake up shivering and wrap six quilts around himself. Looks like a giant blond burrito. I’ll make sure you’ve got plenty of extra quilts when we set you up tonight.”

      The Soldier nodded. A sudden thought occurred to him.

      “Thank you,” he said.

      “No problem man,” Sam said with a smile. “Steve’s trying out a new recipe tonight. You want to come watch him swear at spices and complain about stuff not tasting right?”

      The corner of the Soldier’s mouth ticked up slightly as he followed Sam out of the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter nine! I have three other chapters that are written and being edited right now. And then probably just two or three more still to be done. I will probably have chapter 10 up in a couple days!  
> Love you all.


	10. To Begin To Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing is a process. It is not a simple linear progression to normalcy and a happy ending.  
> This is the beginning of Bucky's process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So you may have noticed that I added panic attack to the tags. The one and only panic attack of the fic happens in this chapter. If you think that might trigger you or upset you in anyway, you can check the end of the chapter for a slightly more spoilery explanation. Just, do what's best for you.
> 
> As always, endless love to thephonecallfromgod and walkerssmonroe. You guys are the literal best.

      Healing, Steve learned when Bucky moved in, is a process. And it isn’t an easy linear pattern that you could follow to your happy ending. There were good days and bad days and worse days. There were days when Bucky would come home from therapy and would curl up on himself on the couch, tucking his head away from the light, all the while trying his hardest not to let the metal arm touch the rest of him. Other days all he could do was rage in Russian, screaming about burning Hydara and the world for what they had done to him. Some days, Bucky would not move, or eat, or talk. He would just stare at the wall with utter blankness on his face.

      Steve was learning that all of it, was Bucky. And all of it was worth it, because there were days when Bucky would talk about the Commandos and growing up in Brooklyn before the war. They’d play real or not real for hours, Bucky getting better and better at knowing the answer before Steve told him. He said it was getting easier to tell the difference between his memories and the ones Hydra had given him, or changed.

      “They just _feel_ different,” he told them.

      Steve was learning that Sam Wilson was a godsend.

      Sam was always patient and kind. He gave Bucky choices about everything, but was careful not to overwhelm him. He went out of his way to find out what Bucky liked and didn’t like. From food to clothing to his favourite colour.

      Sam had no experience with Bucky pre-Hydra and therefore had no expectations about who the man should be. On days when Bucky couldn’t look Steve in the eyes, Sam would take him out for a walk and by the time they got back the tension would have eased from Bucky’s shoulders. Steve did not begrudge the time they spent together, nor did he ask what they talked about. Because Sam Wilson was a godsend.

      And this was never more clear than the first time Bucky had a panic attack.

      They were watching TV when a commercial for the latest Stark tech started playing.

      “Stark,” Bucky said slowly, drawing out the word in the way Steve recognized was him reaching for a memory. Tony’s face appeared on screen. “Do I know him?” Bucky asked.

      “No, but I do. We worked with his dad during the war.”

      “Howard,” Bucky said confidently. A small smile appeared on his face. “We were friends.”

      “Yeah,” Steve said, returning the smile.

      “His wife, Maria, she was very pretty.”

      “We weren’t around when they met, but I’ve heard that yeah.”

      Bucky looked at Steve, confusion on his face.

      “She was pretty. She had brown hair. . . “ Bucky’s eyes were widening, his breath coming faster as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “They died in a car crash. They died in a car crash because I killed them. He was my friend and I killed them.”  

 

      And then Bucky shut down and Steve called for Sam, hoping he was still in the next room.

 

      The Soldier couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight and his lungs wouldn’t listen to him. He kept telling them to expand, to take in air, but all he could get were shallow, painful, gasps.  He was shaking and his fingers were going numb. He clutched at the cushions, trying to regain feeling. His heart pounded, racing faster and faster.

 

      “Bucky, look at me.”

 

      The Soldier followed the voice. Sam was crouched before him.

 

      “You need to breathe, okay man? Deep breaths.” The Soldier tried, but his lungs were still not cooperating. “Put your hand on my chest,” The Soldier shook his head, he would hurt Sam, like he hurt everyone. “You are not the Soldier. You won’t hurt me, just put your hand on my chest.” The Soldier reached out his human hand and laid it against Sam’s chest. “Good, good. Now feel me breathe, yeah good. Now breathe with me, like you did with Steve when you were kids. Just match to me okay. Do you need anything?” The Soldier shook his head again. “Okay. I’m going to tell you a story then, okay?” The Soldier nodded. He focused on Sam’s words, on his chest moving up and down, air going in and out under his hand. “I told you I’ve got sisters. Well I’ve also got nieces and nephews. The oldest, he’s 10. We were at the park yesterday and he says. ‘Uncle Sam, you’re dating Captain America.’ And I said, ‘yeah buddy, and you’re not supposed to tell people right?’. ‘Yeah yeah, the media will hound us, we’ll be driven to the edge of the earth and we’ll never have peace again, whatever. But _Uncle Sam_ you’re dating _Captain America_. Its the dream team!’ I of course had no clue what he meant, until he made about sixteen ‘I Want You’ jokes. I think my favourite  was ‘I want you  to stop boiling everything’. He also decided I should join the Avengers and have my code name be Uncle Sam. Apparently its ‘too good of an opportunity to pass up’, despite the fact that a code name is supposed to _protect_ your identity not _flaunt_ it.”

      And then, miraculously, Bucky was laughing. It was quiet and small, but it was laughter.

      “Uncle Sam and Captain America,” he said, as he leaned his head forward onto Sam’s shoulder, a huff of laughter escaping his lungs.

      If Steve was the kind of man who fist pumped the air, he would have done it then. Because Bucky did not touch. He did not reach out for comfort or step into other people’s space. He tolerated contact when it was necessary, and that was the extent of it. Steve had come to terms with that, he understood that it was what Bucky needed, even though he missed the easy affection Bucky had shared before the war.

      Hesitantly, Steve reached out a hand, stopping before making contact.

      “Buck?” he asked quietly. Bucky turned his head slightly, so that he could see Steve but still stay resting on Sam. Seeing Steve’s outreached hand, he leaned slightly so that they were touching.  

  
  


      The panic attack had been terrifying. But the Soldier took it as a good sign. The pieces were going back together all differently and they were trying to shake him apart. But he would hold on, hold himself together. He would make it out alive.

      He didn’t have to be the Soldier.

      He could be Bucky.  

      He could stay with Sam and Steve and be Bucky.

      He would make it out alive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation: Bucky remembers the Starks and their death. This triggers a panic attack. A portion of it is written from his perspective. Steve and Sam are able to help him through it.


	11. Gardens and Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky needs to do something good. And he has an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't believe the reaction I've received to this. I love you all so much for reading and everything. You're super wonderful!!!
> 
> And so SO much love to phonecallfromgod who gives me support and ideas and love. check her out on tumblr.  
> And endless appreciation and love to walkerssmonroe who never has a bad thing to say.

      It was not Bucky’s last panic attack, but it was the last one that Steve was unprepared for. Following Sam’s lead, he was able to help Bucky through the attacks. They would breath together and Steve would tell him a story to distract him. Usually it was about their neighbours or things Natasha had told him. Steve wasn’t as good as Sam at getting Bucky to laugh after, but he helped. With the help of Bucky’s therapist, they developed some other coping mechanism for Bucky, like identifying and avoiding the more avoidable triggers, and using systematic relaxation when he was experiencing more minor anxiety.

      It had been a week since Bucky’s last panic attack when Steve came home from running some errands and found him sitting in the backyard.

      “He have an attack?” Steve asked Sam, who was washing dishes. Bucky often soaked in the sunlight for a few hours in order to relax after an attack. Sam shook his head.

      “He’s been out there since his session though. I think she gave him homework again.”

      Steve wrapped his arms around Sam, resting his chin on his shoulder so that he could look out the window above the sink. Bucky was sitting in the middle of the yard with his back to the house.

      “Should I check in on him?” Steve asked.

      “If you don’t he’s going to tear a hole in the lawn.”

      Steve kissed Sam’s temple and headed out the back door. He took a seat next to Bucky, who immediately stopped ripping up grass and laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. While he wasn’t as carefree with his touches as he had been, he was become more physically affectionate as his recovery had progressed.

      “How’re you doing?” Steve asked him.

      “All right. Just thinking,” Bucky replied.

      “Sam said the doc gave you homework?” Steve asked, Bucky nodded.

      “She wants me to do something good with my hands. And I have to chose what. Because I can chose to do good and I can chose the good I want to do. Not like before.”

      Separating Bucky and the person he was creating from the things Hydra had forced him to do as the Soldier was a big part of his therapy. As the doctor was fond of repeating, the actions of the Soldier were the product of the situation, not a reflection of Bucky’s character.

      “Do you know what you want to do?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded, leaning away from Steve.

      “I was thinking about planting a garden,” Bucky said. He looked at Steve shyly, and only continued when he saw that Steve was smiling encouragingly. “I would build some raised flower beds and plant some herbs and vegetables so you and Sam could have fresh stuff when you cook.”

      “That sounds great Bucky,” Steve told him.

      “Really?” Steve nodded emphatically. “You think Sam’ll let me?”

      “Let’s go ask him,” Steve said, leaping to his feet.

      Bucky followed Steve into the house, his metal hand tapping out a nervous rhythm against his leg.

      “Hey guys,” Sam said, turning away from the sink. “What’s up?”

      “Bucky’s got a proposal for you,” Steve announced.

      “Oh yeah?” Sam asked, drying his hands and smiling at Bucky. Bucky’s return smile was nervous, he leaned against the counter, his metal arm whirring as he nervously rubbed his fingers together.

      “Doc wants me to do something good with my hands. I … thought a garden would be good? I figured the doc would go for the whole bringing forth new life thing, and as a plus it would be good you you guys for when you cook and stuff. I mean Steve’s always been a terrible cook, what with the boiling and everything but he seems to be getting better.”

      “Hey! It was the thirties! Everyone was boiling everything!”

      “Not like you did.”

      Sam laughed at the two of them before getting himself under control enough to actually answer Bucky.

      “That sounds like a great idea,” Sam said.

      “So you’ll let me tear apart your backyard?”

      “‘Course man, its your backyard too.”

      Bucky grinned, pushing himself off the counter and heading for his room.

      “I’m going to draw up some plans,” he called over his shoulder.

      Sam leaned back against the sink, crossing his arms and letting out a long breath.

      “Sometimes I don’t know what I am going to do with him.”

      “What?” Steve asked, confused.

      “Its just… he’s this big bad assassin, and he comes to me asking about gardens and looking like he’s afraid i’m going to kick his puppy. I just… I…” Sam rubbed his hands over his face and head.

      “You okay?” Steve asked, stepping into his space.

      “How mad would you be if I was falling for your best friend?” Sam asked quietly.

      “Um...not?”

      Sam huffed.

      “Sam, why would I be mad?”

      “Because you hate hypocrisy?”

      “Okay, now I’m lost….why are you pointing at yourself?”

      “I’m pointing out the hypocrisy.” 

      “Still lost.” 

      “I’m a hypocrite Steve.”

      “Because you’re falling for Bucky?”

      “Because I was so adamant about giving him space and being the friends he needs and here I go falling for him. He’s not ready to deal with someone else’s feelings and he shouldn't have to…”

      Steve placed his hands on Sam’s hips, stepping even closer and stopping the words cascading from his mouth.

      “Sam, it’s okay. I get it. I love him too. I’ve loved him since we were kids. And that whole time I was afraid some beautiful dark haired lady was going to swoop in, say those words marked over his heart, and take him away from me…”

      “Well a beautiful dark haired man did swoop in and kick him in the chest,” Sam said, interrupting.

      “Yeah, true, not exactly the point I was going for though,” Steve said, huffing a laugh. Then he paused, before continuing on a more serious note.  “Through all that I still loved him. I gave him what he needed. And he needs the love right now. And maybe that will change, but that’s up to him. We can give him what he needs.”

      Sam nodded, then leaned his forehead against Steve’s.

      “I think Bucky needs new, better friends.”

      “What, so more people can fall in love with him?”

      Sam huffed a laugh, then leaned in and kissed Steve gently.

      “We can do this,” Steve said.

      “Cause we love him?”

      “Cause we love him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I obviously missed my deadline, oops. Which means I'm back at school. So updates may not be as regular. But I'm going to try and do once a week. There's less than 5 chapters left though! Which is good!
> 
> Again, I love you all! Thank you.


	12. The Things You Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Figure out what you like. What you don't like. What you hate. Try stuff. Form an opinion on things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you are all wonderful and beautiful and great and i appreciate each and everyone of you. 
> 
> also, shout out to walkerssmonroe and phonecallfromgod because they are the absolute best.

      "Figure out what you like. What you don't like. What you hate. Try stuff. Form an opinion on things."

      This had been one of the first homework assignments Bucky's therapist had given him, and so far, it had been the most interesting. Like when he and Steve had tried Thai food for the first time. Sam had got them about 18 different things of take out so that the two super soldiers could try a little bit of everything and still actually be full at the end of the evening. Bucky had devoured everything that had coconut milk in it. Bucky likes coconut milk curry. Bucky likes Thai food.

      He also like bananas, despite Steve's insistence that they taste wrong.

      He likes the vegetables he grows better than store-bought ones.

      He likes the colour blue.

      He likes Yoga. He finds it calming (despite having to focus to ignore the snickers when he first started) and he likes following along to YouTube videos that feature calming music.

      He likes YouTube. _A lot._ Cat videos are one of his favourite things about the future.

      He doesn't like YouTube commenters.

      And he doesn't like the History Channel. Especially the specials about Captain America and the Commandoes. Except maybe three of them. The ones that are so bad that him and Steve like to point out the inaccuracies and laugh at them (their personal favourite is the one that claims that the modern Captain America is not Steve Rogers, but a clone, or an alien, or one of Stark's robots).

      He doesn't like spinach. (He's never liked spinach, which Steve could have told him, but no, Steve says he agrees with the doctor about Bucky discovering things for himself, without outside influence. But Bucky knows the little shit just enjoys watching Bucky eat things that Steve knows he’s going to think is gross).

      He doesn't like it when Steve goes away for days to help Natasha, or Stark, or whoever else.

      He doesn't like the nightmares where he wakes up screaming.

      He likes watching goofy movies after they happen. He likes that Sam and Steve always join him.

      He likes that Sam and Steve make him feel safe.

      He likes that they make him feel human and warm and okay.

      He likes Sam and Steve.

      He likes that they are happy together.

      He likes that they try and make him happy.

      He likes the pleasant sensation he gets when he looks at them.

      He does _not_ like the prickly feeling he sometimes gets when he sees them _together._

      It takes him a long time to identify the feeling.

      He is jealous. He does not know why. He thinks about it off and on for over a month and he still hasn't come to a conclusion, when Steve is called out on a mission.

      Steve hugs Bucky goodbye and then goes to kiss Sam. The jealousy flares up, hot and painful, and Bucky finally has an answer.

      Bucky is jealous that Sam has Steve. And that Steve has Sam. He is jealous of them both.

      Bucky likes Sam and Steve.

      Bucky doesn’t want it to be _SamandSteve_  and Bucky. He wants it to be _SamandSteveandBucky_.

      Once Steve is gone, Bucky quickly retreats to hide in his room. He sinks to the floor with his back to the wall. He takes long slow breaths to keep himself calm.

      He does not want to lose them. He doesn't want to ruin everything. They worked so hard to build him back up into a person and he would surely fall apart if he lost them.

      Bucky's human finger trace the words on his right ribs and then move to trace the ones over his heart.

      The marks convince him. He _can’t_ lose them. He is sure it's impossible 

      They are his soulmates. They are bound together. They would not leave. All he has to do is tell them that he wants more. He is sure they will understand.

      But he can't tell them with words. He is fairly certain that if he actually tried to tell them, he would lapse into Russian proverbs, which really wouldn't be helpful for anyone.

      He would have to show them. Sorta, ease them into it.

      He could do that. He could show them he loves them......

      "Shit," Bucky whispered. "Was it always this hard?"

      Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

      "You okay man?" Sam asked.

      "Uh...mostly?" Bucky responded (which was true).

      "Do you want to be alone?"

      "Kinda? But not really...a little?" Bucky responded (also true).

      "Want me to stay out here and talk through the door?" Sam asked after a beat.

      "Yes," Bucky said (So _very_ true, Sam always knew the right thing to say). He heard Sam settle on the other side of the door.

      "So what's up?"

      "I don't like it when he leaves," Bucky said (which is also true, though not the exact reason Bucky was hiding). "It makes me feel so.. so..."

      "Useless?" Sam supplied.

      "Yeah," Bucky said quietly. "I'm supposed to have his back. That's my job. "

     "I get that. But it's not just your job anymore. It's Natasha's and Clint's and anyone else he trusts to take out with him. There are _at least_ four watching his back right now. I promise."

      Bucky hit his head against the wall, trying to sort out what was going on in his head so that he could explain it to Sam.

      "I get that, I do. But it still doesn't stop the useless feeling.You know?"

      Sam sighed.

      "Yeah, I know. I feel it too," he said.

      "Yeah?"

      "Yeah. Every time he walks out that door I feel the same way I did on the carrier. Grounded. No way to fly or fight. Stuck, with no way to help Steve. I was so afraid that day, so afraid I was going to watch him fall. Like Riley all over again."

      Bucky inhaled sharply.

      "I'm sorry," he said.

      "Not your fault," Sam replied.

      "It is though. I grabbed you out of the sky. Tore your wings off. I grounded you. And then I let Steve fall. I'm _sorry_."

      "Bucky, you are not the same man that grounded me. You're someone new. You don't need to apologize. "

      Bucky grunted and hit his head again.

      "How are you not angry with me?"

      "Man, what is with you and Steve and needing shit repeated? Were the 1940s big on selective hearing? Like I said, _you are not the guy that grabbed me out of the sky_. I was pissed as hell at that guy, and his organization. You are the guy that dragged Steve out of the Patomac, who saved him. Who busted down my door. Who planted a garden and brings me tomatoes from it whenever I make pasta. Who is still creating himself and choosing who he wants to be. I like that guy. He's pretty cool. Well, when he's not being a complete goof like now."

      Bucky laughed. It was still a pretty harsh sound, his throat still unused to that use of it.

      When he was done, something else occurred to him.

      "Why don't you go with him?" he asked.

      "What?" Sam asked, obviously confused with the turn of the conversation.

      "Why don't you go with Steve? On missions. You've got your wings now. You could help. Not be useless."

      "'Cause I stay for you," Sam said.

      "Oh," Bucky said as neutrally as he could muster (which wasn't much).

      "Now wait. Before you go feeling too guilty, know that I am useful here and I like being here. If I went with Steve, the both of us would spend the entire time worried about you. We would be distracted and jumpy and missing you like crazy. With me here, Steve can focus on kicking bad guy ass and when he calls I can tell him that you’re okay. And I can focus on you and _make sure_ you’re okay. Sure, I still feel useless. But I can be useful for you. Which makes it a lot better."

      "Oh," Bucky said again, he paused. "Can I stay with you tonight? Easier for you to know that I'm okay."

      Sam chuckled on the other side of the door.

      "Sure Buck. That'd be good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again. 
> 
> also, just so you know, in terms of what Bucky's therapist is recommending to him, some of it is me taking some creative license, but a lot of it is pretty legit. I asked my mom, whose is a psychologist, and she gave me some advice (she was unaware she was helping with a fic).   
> so yeah, just thought i'd let you know that.


	13. A Sign of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has A Plan. It has multiple phases, at least three contingencies, and requires no actual talking. Because Bucky has no plans to accidentally break down into Russian. Or poetry. Or Russian poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit! An update!  
> So I am the absolute worst. I had never intended to have such a huge gap between updates. University has been grinding me into the earth these last couple months. But here we are, with an update. I thank all of you who have been here since the beginning and have had such beautiful patience with me. And if anyone is new, Hi! I hope you like this.
> 
> Thank you as always to phonecallfromgod on tumblr. You are the greatest roommate and reader a girl could ask for. Seriously, some of the best bits are all you. Love.  
> And thanks to hellaholidays (who has now changed her url twice since this project began and will probably change it again before we're done). Thank you for your support, and I'm sorry this chapter made you yell at me. Love.

      Bucky had a plan. A good plan. A plan that didn't not require words and would definitely work. Probably. Hopefully?

      He would show Sam and Steve that he loved them and was ready to be _SamandSteveandBucky._ The plan was not complicated. He would do the things that made them happy. Bucky was fairly certain that he had used a similar tactic in the past. The Smithsonian had said he'd been a ladies man. So he'd definitely woo-ed people in the past.

      Though he really, _really_ hated that word. Woo-ed. He thought it was a terrible word that really didn't fit the situation.

      But Bucky didn't know a better word, at least, not in English.

      So he put plan _Woo His Soulmates By Being Completely Obvious_ into action.

      Bucky decided to start with something simple. Something easily recognizable that had a long and respected history of declaring a person's interest.

      Touch.

      When Bucky had still been the Soldier, he hadn't like touch. He'd barely felt comfortable in his own skin and having someone else's hand on him had been...disconcerting.

      But, as time had gone on, and he'd been more Bucky than the Soldier, this had changed. He remembers the first time Steve had accepted a mission since Bucky had been back. As Steve was leaving he'd given Sam a tight hug, then he'd turned to Bucky, reaching out an uncertain hand to clasp him on the shoulder.

      "Hey," Bucky had said, as Steve turned to leave. "Give me a damn hug ya punk."

      Steve had turned back, grinning, to drag Bucky into a fierce hug.

      Bucky had liked the warm feeling that had filled him. With that feeling in mind, he figured it would be a good place to start the plan.

      A thought swirled around Bucky's brain, that he had to be subtle with his increase in tactility, that if they figured it out from small gestures it would be best, because it would mean they wanted it to. So he began small, leaning on Sam as they worked in kitchen, resting his head on Steve's shoulder as they watched tv, things like that. Steve and Sam, both trained to be observant, noticed of course. Just not in the way Bucky had been hoping.

      "You okay man?" Sam asked one night. Bucky was sitting between the two of them on the couch, firmly pressed against them from shoulder to knees. Bucky looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

      "It's just.. you've been a lot more, uh, tactile than usual? Which is definitely okay, we don't mind at all. But, is everything okay?"

      "'Course," Bucky managed to force out, lapsing into the paused filled speech that he thought he'd overcome. "I...I like it? Its...Comforting?"

      "That's good Buck," Steve said, smiling. "We're cool with anything that makes you happy.

      Bucky smiled back, wishing he could actually explain. Or at least drop better hints.

      Despite the setback, Bucky stuck to the plan. He spent time with them, he did things they liked, he found himself smiling a lot.

      And a week later, nothing had changed. Thankfully, there was a phase II to The Plan, Divide and Conquer. He would still go running with the two of them, and watch movies, and everything else they did as a trio, but he would try and do things for them individually.If he was lucky, one of them would pick up on the hint, they would talk to each other, and they could all avoid the inevitable waterfall of nonsense should Bucky have to open his mouth and actually explain.

      Steve was easiest to do nice things for. Because despite the still present gaps in his memory, Bucky was good at remembering what made Steve smile. The problem was getting his hands on the things that made Steve happy. Art supplies would have been easiest, but Steve already had that covered. Bucky had spent ages wracking his brain trying to think of something Steve didn’t already have (he’d even spent an entire afternoon moping around a Michael’s until he’d gotten tired of the shifty looks from employees).

      Then, out of nowhere, a golden opportunity presented itself.

      It was a Saturday, they were all lazing about when there was a knock at the door.

      “Anyone going to get that?” Sam called from the kitchen. Steve and Bucky both made non-committal noises from where they lounged in the living room. Sam stuck his head through the door and huffed a sigh. “Guess I am,” he said as he walked to the front door.  A few moments later he called for Steve. Bucky followed behind (he didn't trust the two of them not to let someone dangerous into the house, case and point himself).

      A young blond woman stood at the door. Something about her tugged at old memories, but Bucky couldn't figure out what.

      "Agent 13," Steve said in obvious surprise.

      "Please," the woman said, "its just Sharon."

      "Yeah. Sure. Sharon. What’s up?"

      "So, I realize that today is probably not an anniversary you'd really want to celebrate, but you saved a lot of lives and-"

      Steve held up his hand and cut her off, "Sorry, wait. Anniversary of what?" he asked.

      "Of the Hellicarriers."

      "Oh," Steve said quietly. "Yeah. Right."

      Sharon looked confused momentarily but then continued.

      "A lot of former SHIELD agents owe you their lives because of everything you did. And we wanted to do something for you." She beckoned the men to follow her outside. Sitting beside a large, black truck, was a motorcycle.

      "We all felt _really_ bad about going after you and everything. And that your's got wrecked. So we all chipped in and got you this one."

      The three men were speechless, all staring at the bike before Steve finally broke the silence.

      "Wow. That really...wow. Thank you."

      "Don't mention it. Like I said, we owe you." With that she nodded at them and climbed into the truck.

      "Well," Bucky said. "She was certainly… succinct."

      "She just feels weird 'cause of turning Steve down while she was undercover," Sam said.

      "Is that so? Even in the 21st century you have no idea how to get a girl," Bucky said to Steve, who ignored him in favour of crouching down and examining the bike. A crease was slowly forming between his brow.

      "Whats wrong?"

      "Nothing," Steve said quickly. "It's great."

      "Steve," Sam said warningly.

      "It's just...the engine is wrong. It's the right company and style, though mine was more reinforced. But the engine is wrong. Mine was practically custom built. Just to give it the right," Steve made a pushing motion and growled out an engine noise.  

      Sam looked lost, but Bucky was nodding.

      "Gave it a boost so it could support you, the Shield, the reinforcements and still be fast and agile. Like the one you used in the war that Stark had played around with." Steve was nodding as Bucky spoke.

      Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. "Can we supe it up?"

      Steve looked at the bike, doubt clear on his face.

      "I'm sure there’s got to be a shop in DC that can," Sam said anyways. "And if not, we can take it to someone in New York. There’s a bunch of custom shops up there.

      Suddenly, Bucky was struck with the realization of the golden-ness of the opportunity that sat before him.

      "I'll do it," he said.

      Steve looked at him. "You will?"

      "Yeah," Bucky said. "I've worked on bikes before. Hell, I'm pretty certain I've worked on your bike before. In fact I have some fairly distinct memories of trying to buy spare parts from some French guy in Italy. Or was it an Italian in France?" Bucky shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I can do it. I have plenty of spare time to, not like Sam over there with his real job. I would love to do it."

      Bucky swore Steve's smile reached both ears.

      "Thanks," Steve said, standing and hugging him. Bucky grinned, gripping back tightly. Maybe his Plan would work. "You're a great friend Buck."

      And then again, maybe it wouldn't.

 

      While Bucky started working on Steve's bike, he started trying to work on the Sam half of the plan.

      The Sam half of the plan was  a little more challenging. He hadn't known Sam for years like with Steve, he didn't know everything that makes him tick.

      But he had an idea. Fall was coming up fast which meant that pretty soon Bucky's garden would die. But Bucky had been doing research. If he did it right, he could transplant all of his vegetable to a greenhouse. Then Sam and Steve would have vegetable all year round. Bucky could bring Sam tomatoes for his pasta all the time. Plus, Bucky could grow flowers. Flowers were a classic. There was no way someone could misread flowers.     

      Convincing Sam to let him build a greenhouse was fairly easy. He just had to promise him fresh vegetables and to hide some of Steve more ‘traditional’ recipes.  Actually building it and transplanting everything was bit more intense, but he did it. And after a few weeks, Bucky had a functioning greenhouse. The only thing that hadn’t survived were the tomatoes, which had resulted in Bucky smashing a few pots in frustration, so he had to start fresh with those and was firmling telling himself that they symbolized new beginnings. He had also gotten some marigolds from a garden center and they were thriving. And he had a plan for them.  

      Steve had been gone a couple days, out on a mission, when the marigolds were ready.  Bucky had been sticking pretty close to Sam, like he always did when Steve was gone, only drifting away to work in the greenhouse to make sure the marigolds were going to be perfect. The afternoon of fourth day Bucky clipped some of the stems and brought three perfect marigolds to Sam, who was making dinner in the kitchen.

      Sam grinned at Bucky when he saw the flowers held out to him. Bucky returned the smile, trying to ignore his nervousness.

      "Those are gorgeous man," Sam said as he filled a vase with water and handed it to Bucky. "Put them in this. They'll be perfect for Steve's welcome home dinner."

      Bucky did so, making sure to keep the smile on his face. Internally, he cursed in Russian. He cursed his own bad timing. He cursed stupid oblivious men. He cursed his own inability to actually talk about this. And he cursed Hydra for good measure (it was his general policy to include them them whenever he had a good litany of curses going).

      But, at least Steve was coming home. Bucky's smile was genuine after that.

 

      The plan was failing. It had been months and the plan was failing. Sam and Steve loved all the things Bucky was doing for them, going on about his progress. But they didn’t get it. It was making Bucky really frustrated.

      But not every other Tuesday. Every other Tuesday he forgot about the plan, and _SamandSteveandBucky_. Because every other Tuesday Steve went to see Peggy. And Steve's sad-smile had always had the capability to push everything else out of Bucky's head, no thoughts other than how he could help. Which is probably why he'd said it. Why he'd offered to go with him the next time. Why he was standing outside Peggy's room, anxiety clawing at his insides, while Steve delivered his flowers and checked what kind of state Peggy was in. Bucky paced. Clenching and unclenching his hands. Tugging at the long sleeve that covered his metal arm.

      Suddenly Steve popped his head out and beckoned Bucky inside.

      “Come on, it’s one of her good days.”

      Peggy was propped up by a mountain of pillows and surrounded by old photographs. She smiled at him as he entered. She looked different than he remembered, but he could still see her underneath the years. Could still see the girl Bucky hadn't minded giving Steve up to.

      "Sergeant Barnes," she said. "You've taken a long time to come home."

      "I got waylaid," Bucky responded. "Had to have this punk come rescue me. Again."

      "Rogers has saved all of us on more than one occasion it seems," Peggy said.

      "That he has. It's a terrible habit we've all fallen into."

      "Indeed," Peggy said seriously before chuckling softly. Bucky smiled. Peggy was still the same girl. He went and took the chair beside her bed. Steve didn't follow.

      "I'm going to go and get some coffee," he said instead, before disappearing into the hallway.  

      Peggy watched after him for a moment before turning to Bucky. She looked at him hard.

      "I'm glad you're back Barnes. He needs someone to keep him steady."

      "Thanks, but I think Wilson does a pretty good job of that too."

      "Oh, I don't doubt it," Peggy said. "But he's always needed you. You balance each other. And from what I hear, Sam's not as good as you at reigning in some of Steve's wilder tendencies."

      Bucky snorted. "Damn straight. Steve jumps off buildings and Sam just catches him. It's giving Steve all kinds of bad ideas. Sometimes I just want to smash both their heads together. Though you weren’t much better, letting him jump on grenades and out of planes into active war zones."

      Peggy laughed. "Oh god, do you remember that mission in... oh I can't remember where, but the base was in the city, and their were all these tall buildings and-"

      "And Steve tried to jump from one roof to the other and smashed chest first into the edge?"

      "Oh yes!" Peggy said, laughing again.

      When Steve finally came back ten minutes later, they were still laughing.

      "What are you guys talking about?" he asked.

      Bucky tried to get a hold of himself. "We were just reminiscing," he said. "Mostly about all the stupid stunts you pulled back in the day."

      "What? Without me here to defend myself? No fair," Steve said, pouting.

      "No, what's not fair is how often you use that damn face to your advantage," Bucky said.

      "I really do have to agree with the Sergeant, Captain," Peggy said.

      Steve looked between them, aghast, before all three of them started laughing.

      Bucky and Steve stayed for another hour before an orderly told them visiting hours were ending.  

      As they were leaving, Peggy grabbed Bucky's hand.

      "You'll stay warm, won't you? In the mountains?" Bucky blinked rapidly in confusion. "Steve forgets that his uniform is warmer than yours. You should all have scarves, really."

      Bucky took a breath before responding. "Yeah, Carter. We'll stay warm. Hell, I'll take up knitting. Make scarves for all of us. Red, white, and blue to match Cap here."

       Peggy smiled gently and hit his arm. "See that you do Barnes."

      Bucky smiled tightly and followed Steve out of the room. The two walked in silence for a minute, before Bucky spoke up.

      "That was the last conversation the two of us had before the Commandos left for the Alps. Word for word."

      Steve nodded, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders slumped. He looked tired.

      "Despite that, this really was one of her good days. I'm glad you came Buck. It really means a lot." Steve slung an arm around Bucky's shoulders and Bucky snaked his arm around Steve's waist.

      "Anytime Steve. I'm always here for you."  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, all you wonderful people. And shout out to the people who have come to my ask box on tumblr, you guys give me such motivation and always put a huge smile on my face. 
> 
> I have finals for the next couple weeks, but then I'll be on Christmas vacation, so I'll get the next chapter up during that. Only a couple more to go!!  
> (And for those of you who were asking, there will most definitely be actual cuddles in the next one :) )


	14. I Crawl Home to Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end guys. I'm finally publishing the final chapter. Thanks for sticking around and all the wonderful comments and kudos. Sorry my publishing schedule was never very good.
> 
> As always, my eternal love and devotion to my best friends and roommates, phonecallfromgod and kurtbastiantrash. 
> 
> I love you all. Happy Valentines Day!

      Sam was not asleep. He had laid down three hours ago with every intention of going to sleep. But he was not asleep. He was not asleep because Steve was not asleep. It wasn’t as if Steve was moving around a lot or reading or anything, the opposite in fact, Steve was lying completely still, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Bucky. Sam knew Steve was thinking about Bucky because Sam could practically feel the worry radiating off Steve in waves. Sam was tired of not being asleep. He rolled onto his side to face Steve whose profile was illuminated by the faint light coming in through the window. His hair was mussed from the tossing and turning he’d given up on a couple hours earlier and his faced was pinched.

       “Steve,” Sam said quietly, his voice a little rough. “What’s wrong?”

      Steve looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing, go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not going to fly. I know you’re worrying about Bucky. Just tell me. I wasn’t asleep, and I’m not going to until you talk to me.”

Steve looked at him, obviously wanting to argue. Sam just looked at him, unmoving. Steve sighed and relented.  “Have you noticed Bucky acting odd at all lately?”

Sam thought about it.

“Uh. Well he has been knitting a lot more,” he said.

The knitting was new and meant to help with Bucky’s arm. They’d had to do some work on it after the prosthetic had completely crapped out while Bucky had been working on Steve’s bike a few days after visiting Peggy.

Well, Steve had done some work while Tony Stark had yelled at him across a one-way video call. Despite the constant hollering, Sam had to give the guy points for not asking questions when they’d told him that they couldn’t do the repairs in person. They hadn’t even had to explain that Bucky was unwilling to see him face to face. Stark had just rolled with it and said they could do it over a video call.

After shouting instructions for over two hours while Steve’s nimble fingers did intricate things with gears and wiring (an image Sam would be happy to never forget), he proclaimed that they were finished but Barnes needed to find a hobby that would help with the practice and upkeep of his fine motor skills. Knitting had been suggested sarcastically, but Bucky had just grinned and said something about killing two birds with one stone. Sam was resolutely not thinking about how swift and clever Bucky’s fingers were when he knit.

Steve made a noise of affirmation, dragging Sam back to the present.

“Yeah. And sometimes he knits when he’s anxious, but he also just likes doing it. So I don’t know if the increase in knitting actually means something or not.”Steve flipped onto his side, chewing on his bottom lip as he looked at Sam.

“If its not the knitting that’s got you worried, what is it?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure,” Steve said. “Which is part of the problem. He just seems… off. Like he’s on the edge of something and he doesn’t know if he wants to jump or run.”

“That’s an oddly specific image.”

“Yeah, well, you get oddly specific when you’ve been mulling something over for hours.” Steve had stopped chewing on his bottom lip, but he still looked anxious and worried. Sam reached out, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s side. Steve slowly began to relax under the comforting touch.

“I don’t think I’ve noticed anything,” Sam told him. “But you know him best so I trust you on this. I’ll keep my eyes open and then we can figure it out together, okay?” Steve nodded. Sam gently ran his thumb over the dark smudges under Steve’s eye. “You look exhausted man, get some sleep. You’ve got the PR event tomorrow with the other Avengers. Those guys are a handful on a good day, you don’t want to deal with them on zero sleep.” Steve leaned into Sam’s touch and nodded again. They re-arranged and curled into each other, with Steve’s head pressed against the words on Sam’s back..Sam listened as Steve’s breathing evened and slowed, his body relaxing against Sam’s.

With Steve finally asleep, Sam was able to drift off as well.

The next day, Sam payed close attention to Bucky. He watched him as they ran, glanced at him as they ate breakfast and later lunch, quietly observed him as he knit and Sam filled out a Vet’s paperwork. He was looking at Bucky out of the corner of his eye while he failed at filling out form A - 6 - B47 or whatever it was, when Bucky sighed and put down his needles.

“Sam,” he said. “What’s up? You’ve been watching me all day.” Sam stuttered out a half-formed denial but Bucky raised his hand to stop him. “You think you’re subtle, but you’re not. I dunno what they teach pararescuers but stealth is obviously not on the list.” Bucky grinned as he said it, making Sam chuckle.

“Sorry man,” Sam said as he put his papers down and went to sit with Bucky on the couch. Bucky leaned his weight against him. “I didn’t mean to be a creeper. Steve was worried about you and wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

“Anything in particular that’s got him worried?” Bucky asked, sounding like a man that didn’t really want the answer but needed to ask.

Sam shrugged noncommittally. “You know Steve. He’s just a ball of worry sometimes. Doesn’t need a particular reason.” Bucky nodded. Then he sighed and looked at Sam, for a moment  he seemed to struggle with something he wanted to say.

“You wanna watch Netflix?” he asked finally. Sam was fairly certain that that was not the thing Bucky had wanted to say, but he wasn’t going to push.

“Sure,” Sam said, reaching for the remote where it sat on the coffee table. Bucky set his knitting to the side, a red, white, and blue form that he was refusing to explain before he finished it (though Sam was fairly certain he had seen Bucky finish and start something new), and leaned more fully into Sam, settling down into the couch so that he could rest his head against Sam’s shoulder.

Sam flicked through Netflix while Bucky tossed out purposefully unhelpful suggestions. They finally settled on one of the shows focused on con-artists. They were two episodes in when Steve got home. He collapsed gracelessly onto the couch and leaned his neck back until his head hit the wall with a quiet ‘thunk’.

“You’re home early,” Sam said. “We weren’t expecting you back until late tonight.”

Steve groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah, I know. I was supposed to go to dinner with Stark and the others after the event, but Stark started going on and on about how it was a _Saturday_ and that _Saturdays_ were meant for _parties_ and whatever else. And I just decided I was not in the mood to deal with drunk Tony. Drunk Tony is fond of asking deeply invasive questions and making wild assumptions when I don’t want to answer. The press on the other hand, doesn’t have that excuse, but they’re just as bad. So I came home instead.”

Bucky shifted forward, reaching out a hand and squeezing Steve’s hand comfortingly. Steve opened his eyes and smiled softly at him. “Anything you want to talk about?” Bucky asked. Steve smile widened.

“No, I’m good. I’m going to shower and then we should start dinner,” Steve answered as he stood. Before leaving the room, he leaned down and kissed Bucky on the forehead, then Sam.

Sam watched as emotions flicked across Bucky’s face, first shock, then confusion, before it settled on something that looked like quiet joy. As Bucky settled back into the couch, smiling and leaning into Sam, a half-formed thought, more hope that an idea, flashed through Sam’s mind. There and gone in a second.

Before he could explore the thought further, an alarm sounded. Something like an air raid siren mixed with loud gongs and bells rang out from the couch. Bucky grimaced and fished Steve’s phone out from where it had fallen between the cushions when Steve had flung himself down onto the couch. Gingerly, he handed it to Sam, who swiped it, answering the call and silencing the noise.

       “He literally just got home, so this had better be important,”Sam said.

“It is indeed,” a smooth British voice replied. _Jarvis_ Sam’s brain provided, _Stark’s AI_. “This is an official call to Assemble. Sir installed the program on the team’s devices today.”

“Of course he did. Only Stark would chose such a horrible sound. Now, what’s the Assemble for?”

“I am currently uncertain of details, but it appears that an unknown terrorist group has taken advantage of the Avengers all being in DC and is currently attacking Avenger’s Tower and several other strategic buildings in New York. A quinjet will be arriving to transport Captain Rogers in 5 minutes.”

“Alright, Jarvis. I’ll get Steve out of the shower.”

“Thank you, I apoIogize for the unpleasantness of the alarm. Several of the others have suggested an alternative be chosen.” With that, Jarvis disconnected.  Sam huffed a laugh, knowing Steve’s team mates Sam could picture their ‘suggestions’, most of which probably included colourful swearing.

Sam stood and went to bang on the bathroom door. Steve opened it, already three quarters of the way into his uniform. “I was about to turn the water on when the klaxon sounded. I can’t believe Stark is going to subject us to that every time the call to Assemble goes out,”  Steve said, smiling tightly. “What’s the situation?”

“Terrorists in New York. They’re taking the Tower, among other buildings,” Sam said.

Steve nodded, tugging on his gloves. He then pulled Sam into a quick, firm kiss before striding down the hall. Sam didn’t follow. He rubbed his hands over his face and listened to the muffled sound of Steve talking to Bucky before the front door opened and closed. Then the roar of a quinjet as it landed on the street echoed through the house, just to fade away minutes later. Sam made his way into the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, his back against one of its arms and his knees bent. His knitting sat in his lap and his fingers were slowly working the needles. Sam leaned against the door frame.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You wanna order a bunch of pizza and binge watch Brooklyn Nine Nine?” Bucky looked up from his knitting and nodded.

It was midnight when they gave up waiting for Steve and went to bed. Like always when Steve was gone, Bucky followed Sam and flopped down onto the large bed while Sam did the same. But instead of sticking to their own sides as they usually did, they both ended up in the middle with their backs pressed together. For the first time since that horrible alarm had sounded, the tension ebbed from Sam’s shoulders.

       Sam woke late the next morning, his sleepless night of anxiety having caught up with him. Bucky was gone from the bed, his side of the blankets already cold. Sam stretched and got up. He pulled a sweater over his pajamas as he padded into the kitchen. Bucky was at the stove, flipping pancakes as bacon sizzled. Sam grabbed one of the coffees off the counter and nudged his shoulder against Bucky’s in greeting.  
 ****

“I figured I’d let you sleep in,” Bucky said. “You didn’t really sleep Friday night did you?”

Sam shook his head, “I really didn’t. Thanks for letting me catch up.”

Bucky grinned, flipping another pancake. “It’s important you get your beauty sleep, cause you really do need all the help you can get in that department.”

Sam chuckled, no longer thrown by the small bits of Bucky’s humour that had been more and more frequent in the last couple months.

“Yeah? Well then, why aren’t you still in bed?”

Bucky gasped in mock hurt, clutching a hand over his heart.

“And to think I was going to do something nice for you,” Bucky said, shaking his head.

       “Ah, come on man, don’t be like that,” Sam said as he grabbed OJ from the fridge and glasses from the cupboard, apparently, according to Steve, living with other people meant you weren’t allowed to drink direct from the carton. He placed them on the table and turned to Bucky. “We all have to face hard truth sometimes.”

Bucky grinned again and flipped the last pancake onto a big plate that he then set onto the middle of the table. They dug in happily and quiet filled the room. As they were finishing doing the dishes, Bucky turned to Sam.

“So I finished some of my knitting,” he said.

“That’s great Buck. Do I get to see it?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded.

“Be right back,” he said as he put down the dish towel and went to his room. When he came  back he was holding two red, white, and blue objects. He handed them to Sam.

      “They’re for you,” Bucky said. “For when we run. Cause as much as Steve hates the cold, it doesn’t really affect him when he’s in motion. So uh, I thought, you could, uh, use ‘em.” Bucky was rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to Sam and back to the ground nervously.

“They’re perfect, thank you,” Sam said. And they they were. It was a hat and a scarf, a little lopsided and the knitting uneven in places, but Sam loved them. He ran his fingers over the soft yarn and smiled at Bucky. “I love the colours, Steve is going to be so jealous.” Sam smiled at Bucky, who smiled back.

They did some more chores and then settled in the living room to relax, Sam reading while Bucky knit.

       “Hey Sam,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Sam said, looking up from his book. Bucky was still looking at his knitting but there was a small crease between his brow that was obviously not caused by the needles.

“You’ve got three nieces and two nephews right?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Just wanted to make sure I was remembering right. Just felt I was wrong for a second, which didn’t make sense,” Bucky said.

The explanation made sense, but something about the delivery seemed off to Sam. It sounded almost _too_ calm. Sam shrugged internally, maybe Bucky was just getting more used to the odd tricks of his memories.

“Okay,” Sam said, going back to his book.

The day continued calmly, until a package arrived mid-afternoon. Both men were confused by its arrival on a Sunday, but when they saw who it was from they were no longer surprised he’d found a way to make it happen. As they opened the box, all thoughts of a quiet afternoon swiftly flew away.

When Steve arrived home that evening, exhausted from the long day, he found them jostling each other and yelling while they played something on the TV.

“What are you guys doing?”Steve asked.

      “Mario Kart!” Sam said, as Bucky grunted something incoherent and jerked his controller as his whole body twisted to the right .

Suddenly Bucky shouted in triumph as something red hit one of the ‘cars’ on screen, forcing it to tumble off the side of the glowing, multi-coloured track. Sam groaned as the other character whipped over the finish line. Bucky stood up, throwing his arms above his head and saying something in Russian. Sam shoved him in the legs, barely causing him to sway.

“On what?” Steve asked.

“Wii,” Sam said, tossing a white remote-like controller onto the coffee table.

“Since when do we have a Wii?” Steve asked in confusion.

“Since Stark sent us one today in what we assume in some weird way of apologizing,” Sam said as Bucky flopped back onto the couch and looked at Steve.

“We’ve been debating whether it’s for the horrible noise last night or for the constant stealing of Sam’s boyfriend,” Bucky said. Steve sighed.

“Probably the latter,” Steve said. “Stark’s making me go back to New York tomorrow. Said I had to help at the press conference or else ‘it isn’t fair Steven’. He argued for me to stay the night at the Tower, but I said I wanted to sleep in my own bed, even if it’s just a few hours.” He yawned and sat in the couch between the other two men. Sam threw an arm around his shoulders.

“How about Barnes and I make dinner and then we can all eat and watch some goofy movie?” Sam asked.

Steve nodded and smiled gratefully, sinking into the cushions while Bucky and Sam headed into the kitchen. Half an hour later they had to wake him to eat, though he was able to keep his eyes open for most of the movie. When it was over, Bucky and Sam hoisted Steve’s arms around their shoulders and half-carried the only slight conscious super soldier to bed. As they went, Bucky looked over Steve’s head and grinned at Sam.

“Should we tell him that after the 70 year power nap he really doesn’t need the extra beauty sleep? I mean, he’s already won. He is pretty enough,” Bucky whispered to Sam.

Sam chuckled as they put Steve down into bed. As Sam gently tugged off Steve’s socks and pants, Bucky slipped out the door.

****Long before sunrise, Sam rolled over in bed and found Steve already gone. In his place, Bucky slept soundly. Bucky was shirtless, lying on his side facing Sam, with one hand under his pillow. Sam’s eyes zeroed in on the words over Bucky’s heart. His words were in three lines, _Bucky, we can help you, just come home_. The ‘cky’ and ‘you’ were erased by the metal, the rest stark black against Bucky’s skin and still clear despite the scar tissue.

Sam wanted to reach out and run gentle fingers across the words. He wanted to glide his hand down Bucky’s sides and feel the defined muscle under his palm. He could imagine gripping Bucky’s hip and pulling the two of them close together so that Sam could bury his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck while his long hair brushed Sam’s cheek. Unfortunately, he could also imagine Bucky accidentally killing him for the unwelcome surprise invasion of personal space.

Sam internally shook himself. The feelings he’d developed for Bucky had been interrupting his thoughts more and more in recent days, constantly reminding him that he had failed to stick to the plan. When Sam had first heard the words tumble out of Bucky’s mouth, _I’m sorry I broke your door_ , he’d been shocked and confused. But his mind had gone into mission mode, prioritizing so that he could deal with the problem at hand, so that he could get Bucky clean and fed. But as soon as he’d crawled into bed with Steve, all his mental walls had collapsed and the confusion had come rushing back.

He’d never seriously considered that his two sets of words would be connected. It had taken him days to sort through the mess inside his head. He’d been talking to one of the Vets he worked with when the moment of clarity struck. The Vet had two soulmates, his wife and his best friend. Since he’d gotten back from Iraq his best friend had been a huge part of his support system. The Vet’s words had struck a chord with Sam. He figured that’s what he could be for Bucky. His support, his shoulder to lean on when he wasn’t strong enough to walk.

He wasn’t sure what the future would hold for Steve and Bucky, but he’d promised himself that he would stand beside them as they figured it out. If there had been a flicker of unease in the back of his mind, he’d resolutely ignored it. With that promise mind, things had settled. And then Sam had gone and broken his own damn rule.

He’d started falling for Bucky.

He’d started falling in love with the man that he was becoming. With his sweetness and the gentle way he tended the garden. With the stories he told and the startled laugh that would slip out. With the snark and sass that had been there early on, though in smaller doses.

And he’d been terrified.

No longer afraid that he would lose Steve to Bucky, but that he would lose them both. That Steve would hate the hypocrisy and Bucky would be angry that Sam was not the friend he had promised to be.

But Steve hadn’t been angry. He’d understood completely. How could they not fall in love with the man that was dragging himself up from the ruins Hydra had left him as?

With Steve at his side, the renewed promise of being the friends Bucky needed had become easier. Until Bucky had suddenly upped the tactility meter by a good three notches. And then they were sharing a bed when Steve was gone.

It wracked Sam with guilt. He knew it was comforting to Bucky, but it made Sam feel like he was taking advantage. He didn’t think it was fair of him to take part in these platonic touches when Sam’s feelings had long past platonic. But he didn’t want to tell Bucky and accidentally make Bucky feel pressured or like he didn’t have a choice. And Sam never wanted the freedom of choice taken from Bucky again.

Suddenly Bucky made a noise, clearing his throat. Sam was dragged out of his reverie and his eyes flicked up to meet Bucky’s. He was awake and clearly aware of what Sam had been staring at.

“I, uh,” Bucky said, voice rough before he cleared his throat again. “I know I’m not what you were expecting in a soulmate-” he was interrupted by Sam’s chuckle.

“Yeah, you aren’t. But no one would ever expect their soulmates to be Captain America and his thought-to-be-dead best friend. You gotta admit, it’s not very probable.”

“More like the broken pieces of his thought-to-be-dead best friend. Hell, when we first met I was more of a Soviet weapon than a man.”

“You’re not just pieces Buck,” Sam began, but Bucky raised his left hand to stop him.

“I know. I’m not, not anymore. I’m more whole that I’ve been in decades. I mean, some days I still feel like screaming until my lungs are burning and my throat is bleeding so that I don’t have to feel everything else hurting, but. But there are more days when I don’t. When I am happy just to be.” They were quiet for a moment, Bucky obviously gathering the words he wanted to say next. “You and Steve helped me get here. And I’m glad, I’m glad I came home.”

“I’m glad too,” Sam said. Bucky grinned, before he was taken over by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Go back to sleep man.” Bucky smiled again before closing his eyes. Sam did the same, hoping he’d be able to sleep despite the thoughts tumbling through his brain. He did, eventually.

      They did their jog in the morning. Sam wore his new hat against the chill and Bucky grinned the entire time. They took a long meandering route, savoring the fact that it was Sam’s day off. He’d only been working at the VA part time since coming back from the Terrifying World Tour, but he didn’t often get Mondays off. The rest of the day followed in this mellow mood. They watched some benign morning show, which showed a few minutes of the Avenger’s press conference. Watching Steve deal with the press in full Captain America mode never failed to entertain. After it was done they spent the rest of the morning playing Wii, until Bucky declared he had to work on something and he disappeared into his room. Sam worked on VA paperwork until Bucky reappeared an hour later. He stood in the doorway holding something behind his back. Sam stood and walked towards him when he saw the nervous set of his shoulders.  
 ****

“You okay?” Sam asked gently.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky answered immediately. “I, uh… finished something.” From behind his back he brought out a pile of red, white, and blue knitting. “They’re for your nieces and nephews. I was almost done yesterday but I wanted to know I got the number right before I put the finishing touches on ‘em,” Bucky swallowed, his eyes flicking around the room. “ I, uh, know how much they mean to you. Figured they’d like the whole matching scarves thing.”

Sam was speechless. Literally overwhelmed into silence. Before his brain could catch up, he was leaning forward to press his lips against Bucky’s. It lasted just a moment before he realized his mistake and jerked back.

“Shit,” he said. “ I am so sorry. I didn’t- “ he was cut off by Bucky’s growl,. Bucky’s right hand whipped out and grasped the back of Sam’s neck. He hauled Sam in until their lips crashed together. The kiss gentled immediately, a slow drag of Bucky’s lips over Sam;s. Bucky’s tongue darted out, sweeping over Sam’s bottom lip. The sensation made Sam’s knees wobble, but Bucky’s, now empty, other arm had wrapped around Sam and help him upright. Without thought, Sam reached his hands out to grip Bucky’s hips. His thumbs slipped under the hem of Bucky’s shirt and started stroking across his warm skin. Bucky gasped, breaking the kiss, but his hand still firmly holding the back of Sam’s neck. Sam took the moment to suck in a lungful of air that he desperately needed.

“Buck, what… what is… what?” he stuttered out, unable to form a complete thought. Buky sighed in frustration and pressed his lips to Sam’s in a quick kiss.

“I,” Bucky said, as he started peppering kisses along Sam’s jaw. “Have been waiting,” he began going down Sam’s throat, “for one of you two idiots,” he’d reached the base of Sam’s throat and started working up the other side, “to take a fucking hint” he’d reached Sam’s jaw again, where he stopped and looked Sam right in the eyes,”for weeks! Weeks Sam! I was seriously considering that I might just need to start wearing a sign that said ‘fucking kiss me already!’ ”

Hints, Bucky had been dropping hints. Suddenly a lot of things started adding up in Sam’s head. He leaned his head forward onto Bucky’s shoulder, shaking it back and forth.

“I am _such_ an idiot,” he bemoaned. Bucky laughed gently.

“Yeah, you are. But so is Steve so at least you’re not alone.”

Sam lifted his head and looked at Bucky. Bucky’s smile was big and genuine, the brightest Sam had ever seen. He found himself smiling in return. Again, without thought, Sam leaned forward. The kiss started gentle, until Bucky gently bit down on Sam’s bottom lip. Sam gasped, and Bucky took the opportunity to delve his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam moaned and pulled Bucky closer to him. Sam ground their hips together and slipped a thigh between Buckys’. Bucky growled into Sam’s mouth and shifted his hands. Then he was turning Sam and forcing him backwards, the back of his knees hit the couch and Bucky pushed him onto it, settling himself in the V of Sam’s legs. Sam was impressed Bucky had managed the whole thing without breaking the kiss, but Sam did not have the lungs of a super soldier. As he pulled back to guld down some air, Bucky mouthed at Sam’s throat while his hands rubbed up and down Sam’s sides, pushing Sam’s shirt higher with every pass. Sam put his hands on Bucky’s face to pull him back up for another kiss. They lay there, lazily making out, until the sound of a polite cough interrupted them .

They broke apart and looked up to find Steve, standing in front of the couch with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Hey guys,” he said. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

“Yes, in fact, something did. I found out something really interesting,” Sam told Steve, not moving from under Bucky.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Did you know our boy has been dropping hints for weeks now and we’ve both been too stupid to notice?”

The grin faded from Steve’s face, replaced with a dawning look of realization. He dropped to his knees and leaned so his head was next to Bucky’s on Sam’s chest.

“I am such and idiot,” he said. Sam laughed.

“That was my exact reaction,” he said, reaching a hand out to stroke Steve’s hair.

“Yes, yes,” Bucky said. “You’re both idiots. Now can we get back to the kissing?”

Steve chuckled and lifted his head. Even at the awkward angle, the kiss was fierce, years of emotions poured into it. Steve gripped Bucky’s neck, burying his finger’s in Bucky’s hair. Too soon Steve was pulling back.

“Bed?” he asked gruffly, before swiftly trying to cover his tracks “I mean, if you want, we can wait of course, go slow, whatever-” Bucky surged forward, cutting him off with a kiss.

“Bed,” Bucky said firmly when he pulled back.

The three stumbled down the hallway, losing clothes as they went, hands going everywhere as more skin was exposed. They fell into bed, a tangle of limbs, hot skin pressed together as gasps and moans escaped their lungs. They whispered I love yous and promises and clung to each other like drowning men. They kissed and traced each other’s words, sending tingles and shockwaves through their bodies. Eventually, they collapsed, tired and happy, covered in sweat but unwilling to stop touching. After a few quiet moments, their heaving lungs the only sound to be heard, Sam started laughing.

“You,” he choked out. “You gave me _flowers!_ My god, I’m…” he laughed again. Bucky muttered in Russian and dragged Sam so he was lying on his back between Bucky and Steve.

“Yes, you’re incredibly dense. We’ve gone over this,” Bucky said, resting his right arm across Sam’s chest so that his fingers brushed against Steve, who was similarly curled around Sam, like the second half of a pair of parentheses. “Now take a nap, replenish your energy. You’ll need it.”

Sam chuckled, but closed his eyes. Steve eyes met Bucky’s over Sam’s head.

“Never expected we’d end up like this,” Steve said quietly.

“Me neither,” Bucky replied. “But its good, yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“‘Course it’s good. Now shut up and sleep,” Sam grumbled between them.

Steve and Bucky grinned, rearranging and cuddling close to Sam.

Bucky pressed his face to Sam’s back and breathed deep. He shifted his arm and made sure that he was touching both Sam and Steve. Steve,  who had been a solid presence since they were kids, whose words had been a promise even when the Soldier didn’t know what the promise was, and Sam, whose words promised exactly what they said, home. And Bucky was so glad to finally be home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everything you wonderful human beings. 
> 
> Maybe someday I will post something else in this universe, I have some ideas, but they are all pretty goofy so I dunno.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate any comments and criticism.   
> hit me up on tumblr. I'd love to chat about Cap. Or anything really. natthewombat.tumblr.com


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